LIBRARY    I 


JNIViWSITY 

t>    '•  • 


Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 


Lasky 


House  Peters  as  "  The  Cave  Man"  in  "The  Heir  of  the  Ages' 


Little  Stories 
from   the  Screen 


By 

William  Addison  Lathrop 


ILLUSTRATED 


New  York 
Britton  Publishing  Company 


Copyright,  1917 

By 
Britton  Publishing  Company,  Inc. 

All  rights  reserred 
Made  in  U.  S.  A. 


Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 


CONTENTS    /  <#  /  7 

PAGE 

THE  VIOLIN  OF  M'SIEITR. MA/ A/ 11 

JANET  OF  THE  CHORUS 16 

THE  TREASON  OF  ANATOLE. 27 

MOTHER'S  ROSES   33 

CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS 42 

LILY,  OF  THE  VALLEY -.-. 51 

OLD  GOOD-FOR-NUTHIN  '    58 

TONY 63 

BLADE  o'  GRASS 69 

THE  HOUSE  CAT 80 

A  CALIPH  OF  THE  NEW  BAGDAD 105 

FLEUR  DE  LYS 118 

THE  HOUSE  NEXT  DOOR 123 

THE  MAKING-OVER  OF  GEOFFREY  MANNING 129 

THE  LAW  AND  PEGGY 141 

THE  PASSING  OF  DUSTY  RHODES 149 

THE  SOCIAL  ADVENTURES  OF  LORD  NOCASTLE 154 

A  PAIR  OF  QUEENS 174 

INDISCRETION 189 

THE  PARSON  OF  PINE  MOUNTAIN 211 

UNCLE  JOHN 218 

LUCIA  227 

CIRCUS  MARY  243 

THE  LAST  LEAF 252 

THE  HEIR  OF  THE  AGES.  .     . . .  256 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

House  Peters  in  "Heir  of  the  Ages" Frontispiece 

The  Violin  of  M'sieur 12 

Janet  of  the  Chorus 16-24 

Mother's  Roses 32-40 

Lily,  of  the  Valley 52-56 

Old  Good-for-Nuthin' 58-60 

Blade  o'  Grass. 72 

Man's  Woman 88-% 

Celeste  of  the  Ambulance  Corps 118 

The  Professor's  Romance 124-128 

Making  Over  of  Geoffrey  Manning 136-140 

A  Pair  of  Queens 176-184 

Indiscretion    192-208 

The  Tell-Tale  Step 232 

Mr.  House  Peters..  256 


FOREWORD 

It  is  well  for  the  reader  to  understand  that  the 
stories  in  this  volume  are  not  offered  as  literary 
efforts.  They  are  simply  the  synopses  of  pro 
duced  photoplays  in  exactly  the  form  in  which 
they  were  submitted  to  the  studios.  The  synop 
sis  differs  from  the  short  story  in  that  the  for 
mer  is  merely  a  brief  and  bare  skeleton  of  the 
action  of  the  play  —  as  brief  and  bare  as  it  can 
be  made,  while  still  conveying  to  the  director's 
mind  a  perspective  of  the  characters  and  a  ken 
of  the  atmosphere.  Its  sole  purpose  is  to  set 
forth  "  the  meat  "  of  the  story,  not  to  charm 
or  instruct.  The  completed  film  does  that. 

The  use  and  value  of  the  synopsis  is  entirely 
temporary;  once  the  play  is  filmed,  the  mission 
of  the  synopsis  is  fulfilled,  and  it  is  discarded. 
The  short  story  is  permanent  in  character,  and 
usually  much  of  its  charm  lies  in  its  sparkling 
or  moving  dialogue.  Ordinarily,  all  dialogue  is 
omitted  from  the  synopsis  unless  it  is  to  be  used 
as  "  cut-ins, "  or  explanatory  matter,  in  printed 
words  on  the  screen.  The  synopsis,  therefore, 
lacks  the  smoothness,  the  polish,  the  elaboration, 


Foreword 

and  the  rounded  completeness  of  the  short  story. 
These  synopses  were  chosen  out  of  about 
one  hundred  and  fifty,  not  because  they  were 
necessarily  "  the  best  stories, "  but  to  show  the 
handling  of  a  wide  variety  of  themes,  in  a  range 
of  from  one  to  five  reels,  as  accepted  at  various 
studios.  It  is  with  this  purpose  in  view  that  this 
volume  is  offered. 

W.  A.  L. 


Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

THE  VIOLIN  OF  M'SIEUB 

Produced  by  The  Vitagraph  Company  of  America. 

Featuring  CLARA  KIMBALL  YOUNG 
and  ETIENNE  GIRARDOT. 

Directed  by  James  Young. 

When  Pere  Gerome  bent  his  fine,  classic  old 
face  over  his  violin  and  played  "  The  Last  Rose 
of  Summer, "  anybody  would  stop  to  listen.  And 
always,  when  he  played  this  air,  little  Yvonne, 
his  daughter,  with  the  "  Flower-face,"  would 
creep  up  beside  him  in  the  firelight  and  lay  her 
curly  head  on  Napoleon's  shaggy  coat,  and  drink 
in  the  melody  as  it  welled  out  of  the  bosom  of 
the  Cremona,  as  only  maidenhood  and  eighteen 
can.  Sixty-five  years  of  life  —  good,  pure,  sweet 
life,  —  had  given  Pere  Gerome  more  than  most 
men  get,  —  the  love  of  his  friends,  the  adoration 
of  his  daughter,  and  the  worship  of  his  dog.  If 
there  had  been  a  valet,  Pere  would  probably  have 
been  a  hero  to  him.  The  family  purse  was  some 
what  slim,  but  the  landlord  didn't  have  to  wait 

11 


12  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

—  long;  and  as  the  family  tastes  were  simple  and 
inexpensive,  the  one  extravagance  was  the  Cre 
mona, —  somebody  was  always  wanting  to  buy 
it.  Might  as  well  have  asked  to  buy  Yvonne, — 
or  Napoleon!  Mon  Dieu! 

The  little  feet  of  Yvonne  twinkled  so  fascinat 
ingly  when  she  danced,  that  many  people  thought 
that  if  she  taught  them  to  dance,  their  feet  would 
look  just  like  her's;  and  so,  there  was  a  dancing 
class  that  brought  in  a  little  to  add  to  what  Pere 
made  with  his  violin.  And  big,  stupid  Pierre, 
who  owned  the  vineyard  next  door  —  he  waited 
patiently  for  Yvonne  to  name  the  day.  Funny 
how  fellows  like  Pierre  can  always  get  them  like 
Yvonne !  That  was  the  household  —  love,  music, 
and  peace. 

But  that  was  1870,  and  the  War-cloud  hovered 
over  France.  The  War-lord  and  his  Iron  Chan 
cellor  picked  the  quarrel;  and  one  day  the  Prus 
sians  came,  before  any  one  was  aware.  They 
came  into  Pere  Gerome 's  house,  and  every  one's 
else;  and  a  big  Prussian  pushed  Pere  out  of  the 
way  and  chucked  Little  Yvonne  under  the  chin, 
as  she  stood  beside  her  father.  And  Pere  Gerome 
drew  back  his  good  right  hand  with  the  precious 
Cremona  in  it,  and  six  hundred  dollars  worth  of 
violin  went  into  six  hundred  pieces  over  Herr 
Prussian's  head,  —  and  Pere  Gerome  was  a  pris 
oner  of  war. 


The  Violin  of  M'sieur  13 

Yvonne  and  Pierre  went  out  the  back  door, 
and  never  stopped  until  they  were  well  on 
the  way  to  Avignon;  where  next  day,  they 
clasped  hands  and  knelt  before  old  Father 
Marcet,  who  had  married  their  fathers  and  moth 
ers  before  them.  They  sent  a  letter  to  Neighbor 
Bourienne,  telling  him  what  they  had  done  and 
where  they  were  going  to  live;  and  he  was  to 
tell  Pere  Gerome  when  he  came  back;  but  the 
years  went  by  and  Pere  did  not  come.  The  long 
imprisonment  and  illness  in  Germany  do  not 
form  a  very  pretty  story,  nor  would  they  add 
much  to  this  one;  except  that  Pere  got  another 
violin  from  a  Prussian  with  music  in  his  soul; 
and  at  last,  he  returned  to  France. 

When  Pere  Gerome  went  through  the  village 
street,  years  after  that  awful  day  when  the  Prus 
sians  came  to  town,  he  hardly  recognized  the  old 
place.  He  found  no  one  whom  he  knew,  and  no 
one  could  tell  him  where  Little  Yvonne  was. 
Few  people  even  remembered  him;  old  Neighbor 
Bourienne  and  Neighbor  Cailleaux,  his  life-long 
friends,  were  years-since  dead.  Most  of  those 
who  had  fled  that  day  never  came  back. 

Seventy,  penniless,  alone.  Alone?  Not  quite. 
The  violin  he  had  picked  up  in  Germany  was  not 
like  the  Cremona  that  he  had  shivered  over  the 
thick  head  of  Herr  Prusse,  —  but  it  was  a  violin, 
—  and  Nom  de  Dieu!  who  should  come  out  to 


14  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

him  from  the  house  but  good  old  Napoleon  — 
not  the  playful,  bounding,  big-footed  puppy,  but 
a  staid  and  dignified  elder.  But  he  knew  Pere 
Gerome,  —  trust  Napoleon  for  that,  —  and  when 
the  old  man  held  up  his  fine  white  head  and 
squared  his  bent  shoulders,  and  started  on  a  tour 
of  France,  to  find  his  Little  Yvonne,  Napoleon 
fell  in  behind,  as  though  he  had  been  waiting 
all  these  years  for  this  very  thing,  as  indeed,  it 
is  quite  likely  he  had. 

Over  the  dusty  roads,  through  the  pleasant  vil 
lages,  in  the  quaint  old  taverns,  always  towards 
Paris,  went  the  strange  pair  of  vagabonds. 
Always,  in  strange  places,  the  plaintive  violin 
called  people  to  their  windows,  and  always  the 
old  man  eagerly  scanned  their  faces;  and  always 
he  turned  away  in  disappointment,  and  plodded 
on,  —  and  Napoleon  fell  in  behind.  Hard  years 
they  were  for  Pere  and  Napoleon.  Somehow  the 
centimes  didn't  fall  very  often;  and  sometimes 
they  slept  under  a  hay-stack,  and  Pere  shared 
with  Napoleon  what  he  had  hidden  in  the  pockets 
of  his  faded  blue  coat  when  he  played  at  the 
taverns. 

In  Paris,  it  was,  —  a  by-street,  but  a  clean 
little  street,  out  near  where  it  ceases  to  be  Paris, 
and  you  get  the  scent  of  the  grass  and  the  blos 
soms  in  the  spring.  But  this  was  winter  —  win 
ter  in  the  air  and  winter  in  Pere's  heart  and 


The  Violin  of  M'sieur  15 

Napoleon's.  A  child  came  to  a  window,  and  Pere 
paused.  The  child  smiled  at  him  and  Pere  laid 
his  old,  white  head  against  the  violin ;  and  as  the 
old  familiar  melody  welled  out,  a  vision  came  to 
his  closed,  tired  eyes.  He  saw  again,  ever  so  real, 
Little  Yvonne  creep  up  to  his  knees  in  the  fire 
light  and  listen  to  the  "  Last  Hose  of  Summer. " 
And  when  the  last  throb  had  quivered  on  the  still 
winter  air,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  lo!  Yvonne 
stood  behind  the  little  child,  and  big  Pierre  was 
hurrying  toward  him  with  open  arms. 

At  last!  What  a  time  there  was!  There  sim 
ply  never  was  such  a  reunion  —  there  isn't  time 
or  space  to  tell  about  it.  Only  that  "  Grand- 
pere  "  sat  many  times  in  the  firelight,  with  Napo 
leon  at  his  feet;  and  many  times  the  Big  and 
Little  Yvonnes  came  and  laid  their  heads  upon 
Napoleon's  shaggy  coat,  while  "  Grandpere " 
played  the  old  song. 


JANET  OF  THE  CHORUS 

Produced  by  The  Vitagraph  Company  of  America. 

Featuring  NORMA  TALMADGE,  S.  RANKIN  DREW, 
and  VAN  DYKE  BROOKE. 

Directed  by  Van  Dyke  Brooke. 

At  about  eleven  A.  M.,  on  bright  days,  a  very 
small  shaft  of  the  sun's  light  managed  to  find  a 
space  between  the  tall  buildings  that  had  begun 
to  encroach  upon  that  part  of  the  town  formerly 
given  over  to  rooming-houses,  and  shine  into 
Barry's  eyes  as  he  lay  in  bed  in  his  little  third- 
floor-back.  This  was  good  enough  as  an  alarm- 
clock  for  Barry  —  eleven  is  sufficiently  early  for 
any  gentleman  to  get  up. 

Too  early,  on  this  particular  morning;  for 
when  Barry  opened  his  eyes,  he  couldn't  think 
of  any  reason  why  he  should  ever  get  up.  The 
prospects  that  the  day  offered  were  not  parti 
cularly  alluring,  as  Barry  looked  at  them.  In 
the  first  place,  it  had  been  "  a  rough  night  along 
the  coast,"  —  "the  coast"  adjacent  to  Broad 
way  and  Forty-second  Street  —  and  as  Barry 


Janet  of  the  Chorus  17 

was  wont  to  express  it,  he  had  "  a  taste  like  a 
motorman's  glove. " 

He  reached  for  his  clothes  to  ascertain  if  by 
chance  he  had  any  money  left  —  one  advantage 
of  the  room  was  that  he  could  reach  anything  in 
it  while  he  still  lay  in  bed  —  although  he  was 
perfectly  sure  he  hadn't.  An  exhaustive  search 
revealed  a  latchkey  and  two  cigarettes.  They 
were  perfectly  good  cigarettes,  but  Barry  had 
grave  doubts  whether  the  latchkey  was  really 
an  asset,  the  landlady  having  strongly  intimated 
that  it  would  not  be,  after  that  day.  He  finally 
arose,  and  took  out  the  trousers  of  his  "  other 
suit,"  which  were  "  being  pressed  "  under  the 
mattress,  and  proceeded  with  his  toilet,  whistling. 
Being  broke  was  neither  new  nor  startling  to 
Barry,  and  he  was  not  particularly  alarmed 
about  it  this  time;  it  was  unfortunately  essential 
to  being  a  gentleman,  according  to  Barry's  code. 

As  he  dressed  —  you  never  would  have  sus 
pected  that  Barry  was  broke  from  his  appear 
ance;  he  was  Knoxed,  Budded,  Belled,  and  Han- 
naned  —  he  considered  the  possible  avenues  that 
might  lead  to  his  financial  —  er,  ah  —  retrench 
ment.  There  was  Uncle  John,  but  Barry  dis 
carded  him  without  a  second  thought.  Uncle 
John  had  so  much  money  that  "  he  used  to  go 
down  to  Washington  every  once  in  a  while  just 
to  laugh  at  the  mint."  But  Barry  had  not  been 


18  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

on  Uncle  John's  visiting  list  for  many,  many 
moons;  nor  had  Barry  felt  that  there  was  any 
"  Welcome  "  on  the  mat  at  Uncle  John's  "  little 
flat  "  (eleven  rooms  and  nine  baths  fronting  on 
The  Park)  for  him.  In  fact,  the  entente  cordiale 
(whatever  that  means)  between  Uncle  John  and 
Barry  had  received  a  severe  blow  in  the  solar 
plexus  on  account  of  certain  performances  of 
Barry,  financial  and  otherwise.  And  then,  too, 
getting  in  to  see  Uncle  John  was  like  getting 
into  The  Chemical  Bank  at  midnight.  After  you 
had  passed  a  searching  examination  by  the  cop, 
the  superintendent,  the  telephone  girl,  the 
"  cullud  gem 'men  "  in  brass  buttons,  and  the 
elevator  man,  they  told  you  that  he  wasn't  home. 
Barry  got  as  far  as  the  "  cullud  gem 'men  "  in 
brass  buttons,  once,  but  had  to  pay  quite  a  fine 
in  the  police  court  next  morning  for  "  licking  a 
couple  of  niggers,"  as  Barry  expressed  it  after 
wards.  So  Uncle  John  was  out  of  the  question. 
But  at  that  very  moment,  Uncle  John's  cun 
ning  little  fifteen  thousand  dollar  Rolls-Royce 
was  at  the  door  of  the  rooming  house,  and  he 
was  being  admitted  by  the  landlady.  When  the 
door  opened  and  Uncle  John  stepped  into 
Barry's  room,  Barry  made  an  instantaneous 
resolve  to  take  the  pledge  —  if  he  were  going" 
to  see  things  like  that,  he'd  better  "  lay  off  the 
stuff!"  But  it  was  no  illusion,  —  Uncle  John 


Janet  of  the  Chorus  19 

had  really  come  to  see  him!  It  is  highly  prob 
able  that  Uncle  John's  heart  smote  him  a  little 
when  he  saw  how  his  brother's  boy  was  living; 
at  any  rate,  it  all  ended  with  Uncle  John  saying 
that  he  was  going  abroad  for  a  year  or  so,  and 
that  Barry  might  as  well  occupy  the  eleven- 
room-nine-bath  thing  up  by  The  Park  (use  of  the 
"  cullud  gem  'men, "  et  al.  included)  until  he  came 
back;  and  that  a  sufficient  monetary  allowance 
would  accompany  it  to  keep  it  and  Barry  going 
in  a  manner  that  would  leave  nothing  to  be 
desired!  And  the  said  income  would  continue  to 
be  paid  as  long  as  Barry  behaved  himself  and 
didn't  get  married.  The  sound  of  Wedding  Bells 
always  made  Uncle  John  froth  at  the  mouth  and 
bite  pieces  out  of  the  furniture ;  and  when  he  got 
calmer,  he  would  go  out  and  foreclose  several 
mortgages  against  the  property  of  needy  widows. 
And  so,  as  Barry  settled  back  into  the  twelve- 
inch  upholstery  of  a  six-hundred-dollar  chair, 
put  his  feet  on  a  Louis  Something  table,  lit  a 
cigarette  and  flicked  the  ashes  onto  a  Persian 
carpet  that  had  once  been  the  pride  of  Xerxes 's 
grandfather,  he  winked  at  himself  in  a  Period 
mirror,  and  murmured,  "  Pretty  soft  for  you, 
Kid,  pretty  soft!  Hey,  you!  (to  the  butler  who 
had  just  brought  in  some  wine  and  was  leaving) 
Tell  J.  P.  Morgan  to  come  up  here.  I  want  a 
shine.  And  tell  him  to  hurry!  " 


20  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Every  evening  at  eight-fifteen,  and  every  after 
noon  at  two-fifteen,  little  Janet  Carey  tripped 
lightly  onto  the  stage  at  the  head  of  "  the 
ponies  "  of  The  Burning  Shame  Burlesquers, 
and  did  her  little  bit,  which  was  good.  She  was 
seventeen,  but  of  that  dainty,  flower-like  form 
and  fibre,  that  indescribable  dewy  immaturity, 
that  usually  is  the  vested  right  of  children  only. 
Furthermore,  Annette  Kellermann  had  nothing 
on  her  when  it  came  to  outlines ;  but  when  Janet 
put  on  her  baby  dress,  with  the  short  skirts,  the 
socks,  and  the  slippers,  and  her  hair  "  done  " 
in  schoolgirl  fashion,  you  would  have  sworn  that 
she  wasn't  over  nine  years  old. 

You  would  have  made  a  grievous  mistake, 
however.  Janet  was  considerably  older  than  her 
years  —  two  seasons  with  a  burlesque  company 
will  thrust  quite  a  lot  of  knowledge  into  the 
dullest  of  feminine  minds,  and  Janet's  mind  was 
anything  but  dull.  She  could  hold  her  own  in 
dressing-room  repartee  with  any  peroxide  spear- 
carrier  that  had  been  in  Al  Beeves 's  first 
production. 

And  maybe  she  couldn't  take  care  of  herself! 
You  were  never  going  to  "  sneak  one  over  the 
plate  "  when  Janet  was  at  bat;  not  on  Janet, 
you  weren't!  She  hadn't  any  more  use  for  a 
stage-door  Johnnie  than  an  Esquimau  has  for 
a  lawn-mower;  and  she  had  a  way  of  making 


Janet  of  the  Chorus  21 

them  feel  so  small  that  they'd  have  to  stand  on 
a  ladder  to  tie  the  shoes  of  decent  people.  Not 
withstanding  all  Janet's  beauty  and  cleverness, 
she  was  still  in  burlesque  —  it  is  said  that 1 1  with 
out  a  good  press  agent,  you  will  never  do  Big 
Time  above  Fourteenth  Street, "  no  matter  who 
you  are. 

So  when  Barry  and  a  couple  of  friends  "  blew 
into  "  the  theatre  one  afternoon,  not  knowing 
what  else  to  do,  there  was  Janet  doing  her  clever 
little  "  Child  act."  Barry  wasn't  any  fool;  he 
had  some  experience  with  the  chorus,  and  he 
certainly  knew  how  to  pick  'em.  And  the  minute 
he  got  his  lamps  on  Janet,  he  could  see  himself 
paying  installments  on  furniture  and  asking  the 
way  to  the  Marriage-License  Bureau.  He  sized 
her  up  for  the  clean  little  thing  she  was,  and  he 
proceeded  accordingly. 

Now  Barry  was  one  of  our  best  and  fastest 
little  workers,  and  had  always  been  an  admirer 
of  Young  Lochinvar  and  his  celebrated  sudden 
methods;  and  it  was  only  a  few  days  before  he 
had  Janet  sitting  beside  him  in  the  Rolls-Royce, 
with  $29.85  worth  of  roses  in  her  lap,  and  was 
offering  her  a  plain  gold  ring  and  another  with 
a  "  rock  "  in  it  that  it  hurt  her  to  lift,  and  was 
talking  very  fast.  Janet  was  more  particular 
about  the  plain  ring  than  she  was  about  the  one 
with  the  "  rock  "  in  it;  and  after  some  discus- 


22  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

sion  (Barry  was  some  talker;  if  Bryan  had  ever 
heard  him  he  would  have  quit  chautauquaing  and 
gone  back  to  his  job),  during  which  she  found 
that  the  wedding  ring  fitted  perfectly,  she 
"  signed  up  "  with  Barry.  Whereupon  Barry 
told  the  chauffeur  that  if  he  knew  of  a  real  reli 
able,  Union  parson,  he  was  to  drive  there  and 
never  mind  the  traffic  cops.  The  chauffeur  found 
one,  and  before  Janet  knew  it,  she  was  Mrs. 
Barry  Burnit  —  the  only  thing  lacking  about  the 
occasion  being,  as  Violette  D'Armond  (nee  Gil- 
hooley,  and  number  two  on  the  left  of  "  the 
ponies  ")  wrote  to  a  friend,  "  There  wasn't  no 
Bridle  March  by  Lonergan." 

Barry  and  Janet  had  just  got  nicely  settled  in 
Uncle  John's  eleven  rooms  and  nine  baths  — 
Mrs.  Jenkins,  Uncle  John's  housekeeper  took 
Janet  to  her  motherly  arms  at  once,  having  no 
sympathy  with  Uncle  John's  ideas  about  mar 
riage —  when  the  war  in  Europe  blew  Uncle 
John  back  in  a  hurry.  He  arrived  most  unex 
pectedly,  and  telephoned  from  Hoboken  that  he 
was  back  and  would  be  home  in  half  an  hour. 
They  were  having  quite  a  party  at  the  time,  in 
the  apartment;  the  invited  guests  included  most 
of  The  Burning  Shame  Burlesquers  and  several 
of  Barry 's  Broadway-and-Forty-second-Street 
friends,  and  the  place  was  a  bit  littered  up ;  and 
there,  too,  was  Janet,  Barry's  wife!  Outside  of 


Janet  of  the  Chorus  23 

that,  everything  was  all  ready  for  Uncle  John's 
reception.  They  shooed  out  the  guests  and 
cleaned  up  the  place  as  well  as  they  could,  but 
what  on  earth  were  they  going  to  do  with  Janet! 
She  solved  that  question.  After  much  whisper 
ing  with  Mrs.  Jenkins,  Janet  retired,  only  to 
appear  again  in  the  "  kid  clothes  "  she  had  worn 
at  the  show,  and  with  the  explanation  that  "  she 
was  the  little  girl  from  the  apartment  upstairs 
for  whom  Mrs.  Jenkins  was  caring  while  her 
folks  were  away!  " 

Anything  was  better  than  nothing,  but  Barry 
said  if  Janet  could  get  away  with  that  with  an 
old  wisenheimer  like  Uncle  John,  she  was  a 
pippin. 

Uncle  John  "  fell  for  it,"  all  right,  but  many 
unforseen  things  began  to  happen.  In  the  first 
place,  Uncle  John  took  a  great  fancy  to  "  the 
little  girl,"  and  wanted  her  to  "  come  and  sit 
in  his  lap,"  —  often.  He  brought  her  home  a  big 
doll  and  a  nice  pair  of  roller  skates  the  day  after 
he  got  back;  and  Janet  and  Uncle  John  had  a 
lot  of  fun,  after  he  had  peeled  off  the  Persian 
rugs.  Janet  put  on  the  skates  and  made  Uncle 
John  play  he  was  a  horse  and  pull  her  all  over 
the  place  by  his  coattails.  Uncle  John  was  game, 
but  finally  he  got  so  heated  and  short  of  breath, 
that  he  suggested  that  Janet  go  out  and  skate 
on  the  asphalt  with  the  other  kids.  Janet  balked. 


24  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Janet  played  the  piano  for  Uncle  John  with  one 
finger,  and  he  liked  it.  In  fact  he  devoted  him 
self  to  the  "  child  "  so  much  that  Barry  got  sore. 

And  another  thing  —  Uncle  John  insisted  that 
children  should  keep  good  hours.  At  half-past 
seven  he  would  say,  "  Little  girls  ought  to  be  in 
bed  by  this  time.  Come  and  kiss  your  old  Unky 
and  toddle  off  to  bed."  And  when  Uncle  John 
told  you  to  do  anything,  it  was  just  as  well  to 
do  it  and  not  argue,  for  arguing  didn't  get  you 
anything.  Barry  was  using  a  dozen  handker 
chiefs  a  day  wiping  off  cold  sweat  at  narrow 
escapes.  Uncle  John  got  sore  at  Barry  because 
he  hung  around  the  house  all  the  time. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you?  "  he  said. 
"  Why  don't  you  go  down  to  the  club  or  take  in 
a  ball  game  or  something.  You  haven't  been  out 
of  the  house  in  a  week.  If  it's  the  inclemency 
of  the  currency  that's  making  a  regular  house 
cat  out  of  you,  I  still  have  a  check-book  and  a 
little  ink  in  my  fountain  pen.  Go  on  out,  I'm 
sick  of  looking  at  you!  ' 

But  Barry  was  "  doing  very  well  where  he 
was,  thank  you." 

Finally  Uncle  John  decided  that  if  the  "  little 
girl's  "  folks  didn't  come  home  pretty  soon,  he 
was  going  to  adopt  the  child  and  take  her  travel 
ing  all  over  America  and  such.  Barry  almost 
turned  a  back  somersault,  and  protested  feebly. 


Janet  of  the  Chorus  25 

"  Whassa  matter  with  you?  "  roared  Uncle 
John.  "  Where  do  you  get  off  to  guide  my  erring 
feetprints?  I  know  what  I'm  doin'  alia  time! 
'S  my  funeral,  ain't  it?  You  won't  have  to 
stand  trial  for  kidnappin'  if  I  take  her,  will 
you!  That  child  needs  education  and  travel,  and 
she's  goin'  to  get  it  if  it  takes  the  works!  Don't 
never  tell  me  what  to  do!  " 

It  is  highly  probable  that  Uncle  John  would 
have  done  it,  too,  if  something  hadn't  happened. 
He  went  out  one  day  to  get  a  car-load  of  lolly- 
pops  and  things  for  Janet.  Janet  was  getting 
about  enough  of  it,  too,  by  this  time.  "  You 
know,  dear,"  she  said  to  Barry,  "  I  can't  keep 
this  up  forever;  I  haven't  been  out  of  the  house 
since  he  came  back.  How  could  I?  " 

Barry  suggested  that  now  would  be  a  good 
time,  and  Janet  thought  so  too.  She  went  to  her 
room  and  in  a  few  moments,  came  back  looking 
like  one  of  Duff-Gordon's  models. 

But  just  then,  Uncle  John  opened  the  door  — 
he  had  probably  forgotten  to  kiss  her  good-bye 
—  and  there  she  was!  Barry  swallowed  hard, 
and  then  came  across  with  the  truth.  Uncle  John 
took  Janet  over  to  the  window  where  he  could 
get  a  good  look  at  her.  Then  he  looked  at  Barry 
and  Mrs.  Jenkins,  who  were  prepared  for  some 
thing  like  the  San  Francisco  earthquake  or  Mt. 
Pelee;  in  fact  they  hoped  something  like  that 


26  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

would  happen  —  to  save  them.  But  Uncle  John 
looked  at  Janet  again;  then  he  brought  her  back 
and  put  her  hand  in  Barry's. 

"  You  win,"  he  said.  "  The  score  now  stands 
eighty-seven  to  nothing  against  Uncle  John. 
Let's  go  over  to  Sherry's  and  see  if  he  has 
anything  left  over  that  we  can  eat  and  drink!  " 


THE  TREASON  OF  ANATOLE 

Produced  by  The  Universal  Company. 
Featuring  ETIENNE  GIRARDOT. 

Directed  by  Lucius  Henderson. 

When  Anatole,  old  bachelor  that  he  was,  used 
to  go  up  the  stairs  past  the  rooms  of  the  von 
Holm  family  on  his  way  to  his  dreary  third- 
floor-back,  the  prattle  of  the  two  little  tow-heads, 
Wilhelm  and  Greta,  and  the  cheery  voice  of 
Freda,  their  mother,  would  often  come  filtering 
through  the  door,  and  he  would  stop  to  listen, 
envying  big,  good-natured  Fritz  his  happiness, 
with  all  his  starved  soul.  And  as  he  turned 
away  and  labored  up  the  stairs,  he  would  shake 
his  white  head  sadly,  and  think  how  different  it 
all  might  have  been  if  only  Celeste  —  but  that 
was  years  and  years  ago,  and  what  was  the  use 
of  thinking  about  it  now!  He  would  sit  in  piti 
ful  loneliness  after  the  long  and  weary  days 
spent  in  fruitless  search  for  work  —  always  with 
the  same  result  —  ' t  Nothing  today,  M  'sieur. 
Sorry.  Perhaps  tomorrow  ' '  — take  his  sup  of 
vin  ordinaire  and  his  crust,  and  then  he  would 

27 


28  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

take  his  violin  reverently  from  its  case,  and 
play  the  rhapsodies  that  his  soul  conceived,  but 
which  he  could  never  seem  to  put  on  paper. 

And  as  he  played,  the  von  Holms  below  lis 
tened  to  the  melody.  The  two  little  tow-heads 
would  creep  out  of  the  bedroom  and  nestle  at 
their  mother's  knee,  while  her  hand  sought 
Fritz's  in  gentle  pressure.  "  Shoen,"  she  would 
whisper.  And  Fritz  would  nod  his  head  as  he 
looked  into  the  fire,  clasp  her  hand  a  little 
tighter,  and  answer  "  Shoen."  It  got  to  be  an 
institution  with  the  von  Holms,  this  nocturne  of 
Anatole  's. 

But  one  night,  they  missed  it,  though  they  lis 
tened  for  it;  and  the  next.  Anatole  had  wearily 
climbed  the  stairs  after  his  day  of  unavailing 
search,  and  there  was  no  vin  ordinaire  and  no 
crust.  Hunger  and  disappointment  had  claimed 
their  own,  and  Anatole  lay  upon  his  pallet,  too 
weak  even  to  caress  the  strings  of  his  beloved 
violin.  Something  must  have  told  Fritz;  at  any 
rate,  he  went  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter  with 
"  the  third-floor-back. "  He  knocked  and  got  no 
answer.  He  opened  the  door,  and  saw  what  was 
the  matter  in  a  second ;  and  in  ten  seconds  more, 
he  had  gathered  the  pathetic  figure  into  his  big, 
strong  arms,  and  carried  him  down  to  Freda. 
"  Ach  Himmel!  "  said  Fritz,  "It  is  that  he  is 
starving!  " 


The  Treason  of  Anatole  29 

They  nursed  the  old  man  back  to  health  and 
strength,  though  it  took  a  long  time  and  a  tre 
mendous  lot  of  care  —  but  what  of  that  to  folks 
like  Fritz  and  Freda  and  the  two  little  tow- 
heads!  And  from  that  moment,  the  fortunes  of 
Anatole  were  in  the  ascendant.  Fritz  knew  Old 
Man  Schmidt  who  ran  the  big  cafe  and  raths 
keller  — ' i  The  finest  cabaret  in  town  ' '  —  and 
induced  him  to  give  Anatole  and  his  violin  a 
chance;  and  when  Anatole  had  finished  the  first 
number,  men  at  the  tables  paused  with  steins 
half  lifted  to  their  lips;  women  were  making 
dabs  at  their  eyes  with  their  handkerchiefs;  and 
even  the  chef  and  the  helpers  in  the  kitchen  had 
come  in  to  listen.  You  never  heard  such  a 
"  hand  "  as  they  gave  Anatole  and  his  violin! 
And  even  Old  Man  Schmidt,  case-hardened  and 
practical,  and  with  apparently  about  as  much 
sentiment  in  him  as  a  clam,  waddled  up  and 
shook  Anatole 's  hand  —  when  he  could  get  a 
chance,  for  there  were  many  others  who  wanted 
to  shake  it!  And  the  music  publishers  thought 
pretty  well  of  that  etude  —  it  all  came  at  once! 

How  happy  they  were  now!  Anatole  was  a 
member  of  the  family;  the  two  little  tow-heads 
welcomed  his  return  every  evening;  and  late  at 
night,  Fritz  and  Freda  held  hands  in  the  fire 
light  while  he  played.  Fritz  had  gone  up  to 
Anatole  7s  room  and  brought  down  his  things. 


30  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

He  balked  a  moment  at  the  big  picture  of  Napo 
leon;  but  he  looked  at  the  little,  bristling,  old 
Frenchman,  and  laughed  and  took  it  also,  and 
hung  it  in  the  front  room  beside  the  portrait  of 
the  Kaiser;  and  Anatole  always  played  "  Die 
wacht  am  Rhein  "  as  soon  as  he  had  finished 
"  La  Marseillaise!  " 

And  then  it  happened  —  war!  Of  course,  they 
both  went;  Fritz  because  he  was  a  reservist, 
and  Anatole  because  his  great-grandfather  had 
fought  and  died  under  the  First  Napoleon. 
They  parted  with  a  tight  hand-clasp  and  moist 
eyes;  and  Freda  and  the  two  little  tow-heads 
wept  bitterly  for  both  —  for  that  was  their  part. 
The  recruiting  officer  didn't  want  to  take  Ana 
tole  on  account  of  his  fifty  years;  but  Anatole 
asked  that  the  best  swordsman  among  them  take 
a  sword,  and  that  he,  Anatole,  would  show  him 
how  old  he  was  —  and  he  did!  When  the  "  best 
swordsman  "  had  had  enough,  they  made  no 
further  objection  to  Anatole 's  enlistment,  and 
sent  him  to  the  front. 

In  an  angle  in  the  wall  in  the  little  town,  they 
caught  Fritz  red-handed  —  a  spy!  He  was  in 
civilian  clothes,  and  that  meant  the  drum-head 
court  martial,  the  blank  wall,  and  the  firing 
squad,  at  sunrise.  Anatole  stood  by,  unseen  by 
Fritz,  and  heard  the  sentence.  And  they  put 


The  Treason  of  Anatole  31 

Anatole  to  guard  him  through  the  few  remaining 
hours  of  the  night ! 

What  did  he  do,  you  ask?  Why  what  would 
you  do  in  like  case?  While  he  stood  guard  in 
the  silent  watches  of  the  night,  there  came  to 
him  visions  of  the  dreary  little  third-floor-back; 
there  was  no  crust  and  no  vin  ordinaire,  and  he 
had  staggered  to  his  bed  and  fallen  upon  it,  too 
weak  to  play  his  violin ;  and  then  big  Fritz  came 
and  took  him  into  his  arms  and  into  his  bosom  — * 
this  same  Fritz  whom  he  was  now  guarding,  and 
was  to  deliver  to  the  firing  squad  in  the  morn 
ing!  He  remembered  how  the  voice  of  Freda 
and  the  prattle  of  the  tow-heads  sounded  to  him 
in  the  days  of  his  convalescence,  and  how  they 
had  nursed  him  back  to  health;  he  remembered 
how  Fritz  had  talked  Old  Man  Schmidt  into  giv 
ing  him  a  chance  at  the  rathskeller.  Nom  de 
Dieu!  Freda  and  the  two  little  tow-heads  were 
waiting  for  Fritz  —  the  same  Fritz  that  he  was 
going  to  deliver  to  the  firing  squad!  In  two 
hours  the  dawn  would  come  over  the  eastern 
hills. 

What  did  he  do?  Why,  he  opened  the  door 
of  the  guard  house,  and  called  out  Fritz  and  told 
him  to  go  and  showed  him  the  way,  of  course! 
Fritz  wouldn't  hear  of  it,  at  first;  for  he  knew 
what  it  would  mean  for  Anatole;  and  the  old 


32  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

man  had  to  prod  him  sharply  with  his  bayonet 
two  or  three  times  to  convince  Fritz  and  to 
hasten  him  on  his  way.  .  .  . 

And  when  the  morning  came,  it  was  Anatole 
instead  of  Fritz  who  stood  against  the  blank  wall 
and  looked  down  the  muzzles  of  the  muskets  of 
the  firing  squad.  But  in  his  eyes  —  he  wouldn't 
let  the  corporal  bandage  them  —  there  was  no 
fear,  and  there  was  a  smile  upon  his  face.  I 
have  no  doubt  that  he  didn't  see  the  grim  guns 
at  all,  but  way  beyond  and  above  them  —  Fritz 
and  Freda  and  the  little  tow-heads  reunited,  for 
it  is  given  to  those  about  to  die  to  see  things 
that  are  beyond  our  ken. 

So  Anatole  died,  a  traitor  to  his  country;  for 
the  Law  puts  loyalty  to  one's  country  beyond  all 
other  love.  And  yet,  a  very  great  and  good 
Man  has  said,  "  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than 
this  —  that  he  lay  down  his  life  for  his  friend." 
And  I'm  inclined  to  believe  that  I'd  take  my 
chance  along  with  Anatole,  either  in  history's 
record,  or  before  the  Bar  of  The  Almighty. 


MOTHER'S  ROSES 
Produced  by  the  Vitagraph  Company  of  America, 

Featuring  MARY  MAURICE,  DOROTHY  KELLEY, 
JAMES  MORRISON,  FRANK  CURRIER  and  ANDERS  RANDOLPH. 

Directed  by  Theo.  Marston. 

For  twenty-five  years,  John  Morrison  had  left 
his  office  in  Broad  Street  every  afternoon  at 
three-thirty,  gone  to  a  flower  shop,  bought  a  big 
bunch  of  roses,  and  taken  them  home  to  his  wife. 
He  was  wealthy  and  could  afford  it  —  but  many 
who  can  afford  it  don't  do  it.  And  on  this  par 
ticular  day,  with  the  roses,  he  gave  "  Mother  " 
a  certificate  for  five  thousand  share  of  Midland 
stock,  and  told  her  to  keep  it.  It  was  a  little 
flyer  he  had  taken,  and  "  while  it's  not  worth  so 
very  much  now,  it  might  be  valuable  some  day," 
he  said.  Mother  took  it,  but  much  preferred  the 
roses.  The  very  earliest  recollections  of  Mother 
that  the  two  children,  Payne  and  Helen,  had, 
were  associated  with  roses. 

And  roses  just  suited  Mother.  She  was  the 
black-silk-and-point-lace  kind;  gentle  and  watch- 


34  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

ful;  loved  her  husband  and  family,  and  almost 
everybody  else,  too.  She  fitted  into  the  setting 
of  Morrison's  costly  home  like  a  rare  old 
cameo.  Everybody  felt  her  sweet  influence. 
Somehow  every  tired  head  and  heart  came  to 
Mother  with  its  troubles,  sure  of  feeling  better 
afterwards. 

Payne  was  fond  of  "  life  ";  not  really  very 
fast  or  bad  —  just  an  average  young  man  — 
and  he  certainly  loved  his  mother.  Helen  was 
a  beautiful,  impressionable  girl  of  twenty,  with 
all  her  mother's  gentleness,  but  not  her  strength 
of  character.  Spencer  Delevan,  a  Wall  Street 
Money  King,  widower,  and  thirty-five,  came  to 
dinner  one  evening  with  Mr.  Morrison,  and  saw 
Helen.  And  that  was  about  all  anybody  had  to 
do  to  fall  down  and  worship. 

Delevan  didn't  worship,  however,  —  he  coveted. 
Payne  didn't  like  Delevan;  he  knew  he  was 
unscrupulous  in  business,  and  he  had  a  vague 
consciousness  that  connected  Delevan  with  some 
atrocious  act  —  he  couldn't  tell  what  it  was. 
But  Helen  didn't  feel  that  way  —  she  sur 
rendered  at  once,  and  the  affair  was  on. 

John  was  too  busy  to  think  about  it  at  all; 
but  Mother's  unerring  instinct  told  her  that  he 
wouldn't  assay  up  to  her  standard,  even  if  he 
did  have  twenty  millions.  But  Delevan  was 
allowed  to  call,  and  he  was  a  rapid  worker.  It 


Mother's  Roses  35 

wasn't  long  before  the  poor,  impressionable  girl, 
in  love-sick  adoration,  was  burning  a  candle  in 
front  of  his  picture  on  her  dresser  after  the 
manner  of  the  girls  in  Scott  and  Guy  de  Mau 
passant  and  the  old  romances.  And  the  sup 
posedly  well  bred  Delevan  was  daily  abusing  the 
Morrison  hospitality  to  plan  an  elopement. 

Payne  and  Helen  always  went  to  Mother's 
room  at  night  for  a  little  talk  and  a  good  night 
kiss.  Mother  would  sit  there  with  her  roses  and 
her  bible,  and  somehow,  one  didn't  want  to  fool 
Mother  much  under  those  circumstances.  Payne 
frequently  took  his  kiss  as  he  was  going  out,  and 
always  Mother  put  one  of  her  roses  in  his  lapel 
—  a  sort  of  talisman  that  did  good  work  the  night 
of  the  studio  ball,  anyway.  The  studio  affair 
over,  certain  highly  exhilarated  persons  pro 
posed  to  make  a  night  of  it,  and  the  girls 
swarmed  around  Payne,  urging  until  he  was  half 
persuaded  to  go.  One  of  them  tore  the  rose  — 
Mother's  rose  —  from  his  button  hole  and  tried 
to  substitute  one  of  her  orchids.  Payne  came  to 
himself  instantly,  and  went  home  —  sober.  And 
when  Mother  came  into  his  room  at  two-thirty 
to  see  if  he  were  all  right,  he  was  glad  he  did! 
Score  one  for  Mother's  roses! 

Passing  through  the  hall  next  morning,  he  met 
the  butler  with  the  mail;  there  was  a  letter  for 
Helen  —  it  was  from  Delevan  arranging  the 


36  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

elopement  —  but  Payne  didn't  know  it  —  and  he 
took  it  to  her  room.  There  he  saw  Delevan's 
picture  on  her  dresser;  and  picking  it  up,  the 
feeling  again  came  to  him  that  he  had  seen 
Delevan  somewhere  else  than  in  Wall  Street. 
Searching  the  crannies  of  his  brain  it  came  to 
him  all  at  once,  passing  like  a  vision  through 
his  mind.  He  had  stood  on  the  slippery  deck 
of  a  sinking  liner  in  mid-ocean  and  had  seen 
a  terror-stricken  woman  clinging  to  a  man. 
Another  half-crazed  woman  passed,  hugging  a 
life-preserver.  And  the  man  —  God  save  the 
mark  —  flung  the  first  woman  to  the  deck,  and 
wrenching  the  life-preserver  from  the  passing 
woman,  strapped  it  about  his  own  worthless 
carcass  and  jumped  overboard.  Then  Payne 
knew  who  Delevan  was! 

The  letter  did  its  work  and  Helen  agreed  to 
elope.  Delevan 's  big  car  was  already  at  the 
door,  and  he  came  up  the  steps.  Then  a  curious 
thing  happened.  She  opened  the  door  for  him, 
and  he  stood  there  with  a  rose  in  his  button  hole ! 
And  as  he  pressed  her  to  him,  he  held  her  face 
against  the  rose!  That  was  enough  for  Helen! 
All  the  enormity  of  her  conduct  was  patent  to 
her  weak  little  soul,  and  she  broke  away  from 
his  arms ;  and  the  elopement  was  postponed,  sine 
die.  Score  two! 

She  reached  her  room  breathless  at  the  nar- 


Mother's  Roses  37 

rowness  of  her  escape  —  nobody  had  seen  her  — 
and  tore  off  her  wraps;  she  still  had  on  her  hat, 
when  in  rushed  a  white  faced  maid  and  babbled 
something  incoherent  about  her  mother.  She 
rushed  to  Mother's  room  still  wearing  her  hat 
and  gloves.  She  met  Payne  in  the  hall,  he  saw 
the  hat  and  the  gloves,  and  they  told  him  the 
whole  story  —  and  he  remembered  it  afterwards. 

Payne  and  Helen  had  left  Mother's  side  that 
night  in  very  tender  mood.  Helen,  with  the 
guilty  knowledge  of  her  impending  elopement  had 
been  dissolved  in  tears.  It  seemed  almost  like  a 
prophecy  when  Mother  said:  "  I  shan't  be  here 
with  you  very  long,  children,  but  I  feel  that 
when  I  am  gone,  if  you  ever  need  me  I  shall 
come."  She  kissed  them  good  night,  and  they 
went,  leaving  her  fondling  her  roses.  She  put 
the  certificate  of  stock  in  her  bible,  and  laid  the 
book  on  the  table. 

And  then  she  knelt  at  her  chair  and  lifted  her 
eyes  to  God  in  a  prayer  for  her  children;  and 
as  the  sweet  old  lips  parted  in  speech,  even  as 
she  knelt,  an  Angel  touched  her  on  the  shoulder 
and  beckoned.  The  world  could  ill  spare  her, 
but  G'od  wanted  her  with  Him. 

Mother's  bodily  presence  had  been  away  from 
them  almost  a  year.  The  light  of  old  John  Mor 
rison's  mind  had  gone  out  with  her,  and  he  could 
do  little  but  sit  in  the  big  library  by  the  vase  of 


38  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

roses,  and  mumble.  Payne  had  to  take  command 
at  the  office  and  try  to  untangle  the  snarl  —  and 
it  was  a  hard  job. 

Now  a  hound  of  the  Delevan  breed  is  a  hard 
loser;  he  is  accustomed  to  getting  what  he  wants. 
He  had  always  had  a  sort  of  hypnotic  influence 
over  Helen;  and  again  his  car  stood  near  the 
door  and  he  was  in  the  hall  —  no  rose  this  time 
—  when  she  crept  down  the  stairs.  As  she 
reached  the  last  step,  she  felt  a  strange,  unseen 
influence.  Mother  stood  there,  unseen  by  her  or 
him,  but  there  nevertheless!  Both  Helen  and 
Delevan  could  feel  a  strong  and  indefinable 
deterrent  force,  something  akin  to  the  telepathy 
that  reveals  an  unseen  human  presence.  Moth 
er's  spiritual  hand  stopped  Helen  and  she  slowly 
backed  up  the  stairs.  Delevan  stood  as  one 
transfixed  —  dazed;  and  as  he  recovered  himself 
and  turned  to  the  door,  it  opened,  and  Payne 
came  in. 

Payne  had  not  forgotten  the  hat  and  gloves, 
and  here  was  the  scoundrel  again!  And  forth 
with,  he  proceeded  to  administer  to  Mr.  Delevan 
a  most  thorough  and  artistic  thrashing,  putting 
in  one  or  two  for  the  women  on  the  sinking  ship, 
and  had  the  butler  throw  him  down  the  front 
steps.  He  told  his  father  what  he  had  done,  and 
the  old  gentleman  was  much  perturbed;  his  glim 
mering  reason  remembered  Delevan 's  power. 


Mother's  Roses  39 

"  He  will  ruin  us!  "  lie  said. 

"  It  was  worth  it!  "  said  Payne. 

And  that  is  exactly  what  Delevan  came  pretty 
near  doing.  He  turned  loose  all  the  dogs  of 
financial  war  that  his  vast  wealth  could  muster 
against  his  comparatively  puny  victim.  All  the 
undermining,  treacherous,  crooked  manoeuvres 
which  Wall  Street  knows,  and  none  better  than 
Delevan,  were  used,  and  the  crisis  soon  came. 
They  pounded  the  Morrison  interests  up  and 
down,  Midland  in  particular,  until  ruin  stared 
them  in  the  face.  And  Payne  and  his  father 
went  out  of  the  office  one  afternoon,  to  get  the 
roses,  as  they  still  did  always,  knowing  that 
tomorrow  the  crash  must  come. 

Among  the  many  playthings  with  which  Dele- 
van  amused  himself  was  a  very  pretty  stenog 
rapher  in  his  office.  At  least,  she  had  been  very 
pretty,  but  had  grown  worried  and  sad  looking 
of  late.  To  her  pitiful  appeals  he  turned  a  deaf 
ear  and  a  sneering  lip,  —  and  offered  her  money ! 
The  love  within  her  turned  to  ashes,  and  she 
resolved  that  he  should  "  pay  the  price. "  She 
heard  a  very  important  conference  one  day  while 
Delevan  was  engaged  in  the  sport  of  ruining  the 
Morrisons,  and  she  took  it  all  down  very  care 
fully  in  shorthand  for  future  reference. 

And  that  evening  she  left  her  weeping  mother 
and  called  at  the  Morrisons'  house.  She  was 


40  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

admitted  to  the  library  where  Payne  and  his 
father  were  holding  an  autopsy  over  the  family 
fortunes.  She  told  Payne  that  the  firm  had  five 
thousand  shares  of  Midland  that  had  not  come 
to  light.  "  With  what  I  have  told  you  and  those 
five  thousand  shares  you  might  pull  out  —  for  I 
know  something  else  that  I  cannot  tell  you." 

At  that  moment,  Delevan  and  his  two  attor 
neys  were  announced,  and  Payne  hid  the  girl 
behind  the  draperies.  Delevan  laid  down  his 
ruinous  terms,  and  said,  "  Sign  here."  There 
seemed  little  else  to  do. 

As  the  old  man  took  the  pen  in  his  trembling 
hand,  Payne  bent  nearer  and  his  face  brushed 
against  the  roses.  Mother  stood  there!  He  felt 
the  influence,  and  stayed  the  old  man's  hand  and 
tore  up  the  agreement.  Delevan  left  in  a  rage, 
and  then  Payne  went  with  the  girl  to  the  door. 

As  she  left,  Payne  again  felt  the  strange  influ 
ence,  and  it  seemed  as  though  Mother  beckoned 
him  up  the  stairs!  He  followed  her  to  "  Moth 
er's  room."  It  was  just  as  she  had  left  it  — 
nothing  had  ever  been  touched.  He  sat  in  her 
chair,  and  thought  Mother  stood  beside  him  try 
ing  to  tell  him  something.  Mechanically  he  took 
up  her  bible,  and  opened  it.  There  were  the 
missing  shares! 

Hurrying  to  his  father  he  showed  him  the  cer 
tificate,  and  the  old  man  rose  to  examine  it.  As 


Mother's  Roses  41 

lie  did  so,  his  face  came  near  the  roses.  It  was 
enough.  The  coincidence  brought  back  the  light 
of  reason  and  he  remembered!  His  mind  needed 
just  that  to  clear  it.  And  just  then,  the  butler 
brought  in  a  telegram  from  the  head  bookkeeper 
saying  that  Spencer  Delevan  had  been  shot  to 
death  on  Broadway,  ten  minutes  ago,  by  a  young 
woman,  and  that  he  was  on  his  way  with  impor 
tant  news. 

The  House  of  Morrison  still  stands;  and  any 
afternoon,  at  three-thirty,  if  you  will  stand  in 
Broad  Street,  you  may  see  "  The  Old  Man  " 
and  Payne  leave  the  office,  arm  in  arm,  go  to 
the  little  flower  shop,  and  get  Mother's  Eoses. 


CAPTAIN  SANTA  CLAUS 

In  Production.    Not  yet  cast. 

The  country  had  called  its  men  to  arms. 
Already  the  khaki-clad  columns,  in  endless  for 
mation,  marched  through  the  streets,  and  the 
artillery  wagons  clattered  after  them,  in  grim 
and  formidable  disorderly  order.  Mothers  and 
wives,  sisters  and  sweethearts  clasped  men  to 
their  bosoms,  and  little  children  clung  about 
their  knees,  wondering  what  it  was  all  about. 
Many  of  the  elders  couldn't  tell  either.  But 
Kings  and  Princes  had  summoned  their  armies, 
and  men  must  fight  and  bleed  and  die,  and 
women  must  wait  and  weep  —  for  that  is  the 
way  of  the  world. 

So  Fritz  —  big,  strong,  dutiful,  tender  Fritz  — 
took  his  mother  in  his  arms  in  the  doorway, 
kissed  her  withered  cheek,  squared  his  shoulders, 
and  marched  away  with  his  regiment,  to  do  and 
to  die,  if  need  be,  like  the  rest. 

And  in  the  Enemy's  country  there  was  great 
excitement.  In  the  quaint  living  room  of  his 
home,  Anton  gathered  his  little  family,  his  wife, 

42 


Captain  Santa  Glaus  43 

Celeste  Ms  daughter,  and  the  two  kiddies  Louis 
and  Marie,  and  pointing  at  the  news  in  the  big 
headlines  of  the  paper,  he  told  them  of  the 
cataclysm  that  was  to  befall  —  that  is,  he  told 
about  a  tenth  of  it. 

And  it  was  to  come  with  incredible  swiftness. 
Even  then,  there  was  panic  in  the  streets. 
Groups  of  men  talked  excitedly  —  many  of  them 
had  guns  in  their  hands  —  and  recruiting  ser 
geants  were  at  the  doors,  calling  upon  all 
patriots  to  come  to  the  colors. 

Anton  was  among  the  first  to  go;  and  he  had 
gone  but  a  little  time,  when  the  big  siege  guns 
began  to  boom,  and  a  rain  of  iron  and  steel  and 
lead  rent  and  tore  and  desecrated  the  temples 
and  the  homes  of  City  of  Beauty;  and  before  it 
had  ceased,  a  shell  had  torn  away  a  part  of  the 
quaint  room  in  Anton's  home,  his  wife  lay  dead 
among  the  ruins,  and  Celeste  —  little,  gentle, 
flower-faced  Celeste  —  put  her  arms  about  small 
Marie  and  Louis,  as  they  clung  to  their  dead 
mother's  body,  and  took  on  the  responsibilities 
of  Mother  and  Elder  Sister  to  them. 

It  was  to  this  district  of  the  captured  city 
that  Fritz  —  Captain  Fritz,  he  was  now  —  was 
assigned.  And  well  he  looked  after  it.  It  kept 
him  so  busy  that  as  he  sat  at  his  table  at  head 
quarters,  he  was  surprised  to  see  that  his  calen 
dar  bore  the  date  of  December  24.  Tomorrow 


44  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

would  be  Christmas!  Little  time  a  soldier  has 
to  think  of  that! 

And  yet,  as  Fritz  patrolled  the  town,  he  saw 
a  small  squad  of  his  men  come  upon  a  partially 
demolished  top  shop  —  a  shell  had  almost  torn 
it  apart,  and  the  terror-stricken  toymaker  had 
doubtless  fled  in  panic,  leaving  his  stock  of  toys 
to  the  mercy  of  the  Invader,  or  of  any  one  who 
happened  that  way.  The  soldiers,  filled  with  the 
spirit  of  Christmas,  and  that  boyishness  that 
often  takes  hold  of  grown  men  as  a  merciful 
relaxation  from  the  grim  business  in  hand,  seized 
upon  the  toys  with  the  delight  of  schoolboys,  and 
bore  them  off  to  the  barracks  for  a  Christmas 
revel. 

And  Fritz  also  saw  little  Celeste  struggling 
to  get  a  great,  unwieldy  bundle  of  wood  that  she 
had  gathered  into  the  house,  together  with  a 
small  evergreen  tree  that  she  had  hacked  down 
in  the  gardens.  Enemy  or  no  enemy,  Fritz  went 
gallantly  to  her  assistance;  and  though  his  serv 
ices  were  not  at  first  accepted  with  a  very  good 
grace,  he  carried  in  the  wood  and  the  tree,  and 
saw  the  situation  in  the  house.  Little  Marie  and 
Louis  had  been  fed  from  the  scanty  store, — 
Celeste  had  denied  herself  that  they  might  feast 
—  and  were  engaged  in  writing  notes  to  Santa 
Claus,  telling  him  what  to  bring,  though  Celeste 


Captain  Santa  Glaus  45 

was  most  dubious  as  to  how  he  was  going  to 
bring  anything  at  all. 

The  children  took  to  Fritz  like  ducks  to  water, 
as  soon  as  he  had  smiled  away  the  awe  that  his 
presence  had  inspired;  and  Celeste  was  not  long 
in  following  their  lead  when  she  realized  that  he 
had  come  to  them  solely  out  of  the  kindness  of 
his  heart,  and  actuated  by  the  best  of  motives. 
He  soon  had  the  two  kiddies  on  his  knees  show 
ing  him  the  letters  they  had  written  to  Santa 
Glaus  asking  for  a  drum  and  a  sword  and  a  gun 
and  some  candy. 

Marie's  letter  asked  that  Santa  Glaus  "  bring 
her  Daddy  home  for  Christmas  and  a  dolly  with 
curly  hair."  The  prospects  for  getting  these 
things  didn't  seem  especially  bright,  but  sud 
denly,  Fritz  thought  of  the  demolished  toy-shop, 
that  his  soldiers  had  looted,  and  he  smiled  at 
the  kiddies  and  winked  at  Celeste,  and  said  that 
perhaps  Santa  Glaus  was  doing  business  at  the 
old  stand,  even  in  these  troublesome  times;  and 
he  put  the  letters  carefully  into  his  pocket  in 
order  to  be  sure  that  Santa  Glaus  would  get 
them,  Special  Delivery.  At  least,  he  knew  of  a 
big  box  full  of  Christmas  goodies  that  had  come 
to  him  from  home  —  he  was  sure  Santa  Glaus 
could  bring  that  —  but  he  said  nothing  to  Celeste 
about  it,  only  whispering  to  her  that  he  thought 


46  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

the  drum  and  the  gun  and  the  sword  and  the 
dolly  could  be  arranged.  And  as  he  hurried 
away,  the  first  snowflakes  sifted  down  upon  his 
broad  shoulders  —  it  was  going  to  be  a  "  White 
Christmas  "  —  and  Celeste  stood  long  at  the 
window,  looking  after  him.  .  .  . 

The  enemy  had  made  a  stubborn  resistance, 
and  Anton  sat  in  the  trench  with  his  comrades, 
only  a  few  miles  from  his  home,  warming  his 
fingers  over  the  tiny  fire  that  safety  allowed. 
What  had  become  of  his  family  since  that  awful 
day  when  he  left  them?  He  had  no  idea,  but  he 
told  his  comrades  that  he  proposed  to  find  out, 
and  that  he  was  going  to  make  his  way  through 
the  enemy's  lines,  through  the  cover  of  the  dark 
ness,  and  pay  them  a  visit  on  this  Christmas 
Eve,  if  it  cost  him  his  life.  They  tried  to  dis 
suade  him,  but  Anton  was  stubborn,  and  he  set 
out,  skulking  behind  trees  and  walls,  and  work 
ing  his  perilous  way  toward  home. 

In  the  barracks,  Fritz's  soldiers  were  decking 
a  Christmas  tree  with  the  toys  that  they  had 
"  captured  "  and  in  the  revel  were  children 
again.  Fritz  entered,  and  they  saluted  and  stood 
at  attention.  He  told  them  to  go  ahead  with 
the  fun,  and  asked  if  they  would  give  him  a  few 
of  the  toys.  This  they  were  only  too  glad  to  do, 
and  as  Fritz  read  from  the  children's  letters  the 
things  he  wanted,  the  men  picked  them  out;  and 


Captain  Santa  Glaus  47 

when  the  list  was  completed,  they  piled  more  and 
more  upon  him,  until  he  had  to  beg  off  carrying 
anything  else. 

And  with  his  box  from  home  under  his  arm, 
he  set  out  toward  Celeste  and  the  kiddies.  She 
let  him  in,  but  made  him  leave  the  toys  outside 
—  Santa  Glaus  was  going  to  bring  those  —  and 
soon  Fritz  was  seated  on  the  hearth,  a  kiddie  on 
each  knee,  the  firelight  on  their  faces,  telling 
them  the  wonderful  story  of  how  Santa  Glaus 
came  to  be.  How,  long  ago,  in  the  deep  blue  of 
the  Eastern  sky,  a  single,  beautiful  star  had 
appeared,  and  how  certain  wise  men  had  seen  it 
and  knew  that  God  had  fulfilled  his  ancient 
promise.  How  they  had  gathered  up  their 
choicest  gifts  and  brought  them  to  the  Babe  that 
lay  in  the  manger  and  laid  them  at  his  feet. 
And  how,  ever  since,  Santa  Glaus,  who  was  him 
self  a  very  wise  man,  brought  gifts  every  Christ 
mas  morning  to  good  children  in  remembrance 
of  the  Little  Babe's  Nativity. 

And  as  they  talked,  Celeste  and  Marie  and 
small  Louis  seemed  to  see  the  pictures  in  the 
embers,  and  Celeste  knew,  deep  down  in  her 
heart,  that  Fritz  was  no  enemy!  They  sent  the 
letters  up  the  chimney,  though  Fritz  hesitated 
about  sending  the  one  in  which  Marie  had  asked 
that  Santa  Glaus  "  bring  her  Daddy  home  for 
Christmas"  —  Fritz  knew  it  wouldn't  be  well 


48  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

for  Daddy  to  come  —  but  Marie  was  insistent, 
and  so  lie  sent  that  with  the  rest.  Then  the 
Sand  Man  came,  almost  before  they  had  hung  up 
the  stockings,  and  Fritz  carried  them  into  the 
nursery  and  laid  them  in  the  crib,  and  his  eyes 
met  Celeste's  as  they  watched  them  by  the  light 
of  the  candle  shaded  by  Celeste's  hand.  And  all 
this  while,  Anton  was  stealthily  working  his  way 
through  dangers  and  difficulties,  and  was  draw 
ing  steadily  nearer  to  his  home. 

Then  Fritz  and  Celeste  dressed  the  tree,  and 
put  the  Christmas  box  under  it  —  that  must  not 
be  opened  until  the  morning,  Fritz  said  —  and 
then  Fritz  looked  at  his  watch  and  was  aston 
ished  at  the  time,  and  left  hurriedly,  taking  both 
Celeste's  hands  in  his  and  kissing  them  rever 
ently.  And  when  he  had  gone  and  the  door  was 
barred,  she  looked  at  the  place  where  Fritz  had 
kissed  and  shyly  kissed  it  herself. 

There  was  a  hurried  knock  at  the  door,  and 
Anton's  voice  called  to  her  for  admittance!  In 
a  moment,  he  was  in  her  arms,  and  she  had  told 
him  of  her  mother's  death,  and  had  led  him, 
broken-hearted,  to  the  crib  of  Louis  and  Marie. 
Scarcely  were  their  arms  about  his  neck,  when 
there  was  another  knock  at  the  door,  and  they 
all  stood  aghast.  Then  Celeste  closed  the  nur 
sery  door  and  went  to  the  outer  one.  It  wa& 


Captain  Santa  Clans  49 

Fritz,  who  had  forgotten  his  field  glasses  which 
he  had  unslung  from  his  shoulder  when  he 
dressed  the  tree!  He  apologized  for  his  intru 
sion  and  went  to  the  table  and  picked  up  the 
glasses.  There  was  a  man's  hat  on  the  table  and 
it  was  wet  with  snow!  He  looked  into  Celeste's 
eyes,  and  she  dropped  them.  The  soul  of  Fritz 
sickened  within  him. 

And  behind  the  nursery  door,  while  the  chil 
dren  clung  to  him,  Anton  drew  his  sword  and 
prepared  to  fight.  Fritz  started  for  the  closed 
door  and  Celeste  tried  to  stop  him,  but  he  flung 
her  off.  Then  the  door  opened,  and  Anton, 
sword  in  hand,  stepped  out.  Fritz  whipped  out 
his  sword,  but  before  either  could  do  anything, 
Louis  and  Marie  had  run  and  jumped  upon  their 
father,  and  Celeste  had  her  arms  about  his  neck ! 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Soldier/'  piped  Marie,  "  Santa 
Claus  sent  Daddy  home  for  Christmas  after 
all!  "  Fritz  lowered  his  sword  and  stood  shame 
faced.  Then  he  went  to  the  table  and  scribbled 
on  a  piece  of  paper  and  gave  it  to  Anton.  It 
was  a  passport  through  the  lines. 

Celeste  fell  upon  her  knees  and  kissed  Fritz's 
hand.  The  two  men  went  out  together;  and  at 
the  parting  of  the  ways  —  neither  had  said  a 
word  till  then  —  Anton  put  out  his  hand.  Fritz 
took  it,  in.  the  freemasonry  of  big  men  —  big  in 


50  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

body  and  big  in  soul.  And  as  they  turned  away, 
each  looked  back,  and  with  common  impulse  said, 
*  *  Merry  Christmas !  ' ' 

When  morning  dawned,  Fritz  sat  at  his  table 
at  headquarters,  toying  with  a  sprig  of  holly  and 
thinking.  He  remembered  how,  on  a  previous 
Christmas  morning,  he  had  heard  a  choir  boy 
with  a  face  like  an  angel  sing,  "  Peace  on  Earth, 
Good  Will  toward  Men."  Fritz 's  face  was  very 
sober;  but  gradually,  as  he  thought,  he  smiled. 
War  has  its  compensations. 


LILT,  OF  THE  VALLEY 

Produced  by  The  Vitagraph  Company  of  America. 

Featuring  LILLIAN  WALKER  and 
EARLE  WILLIAMS 

Directed  by  Wilfrid  North. 

Old  Man  Kemble  and  Old  Man  Maynard  had 
played  cribbage  from  four  to  six  every  afternoon 
for  twenty  years  in  the  little  back  room  of  "  the 
Dutchman's,"  on  Beaver  Street.  They  had  their 
daily  quarrel  over  their  second  toddy,  and  made 
up  over  their  third.  And  so,  when  Old  Man 
Kemble  died,  he  left  his  all  —  three  thousand 
dollars  —  to  his  daughter,  Lillian,  who  was  the 
god-daughter  of  his  life-long  friend  and  crony. 
"  I  don't  want  any  will  or  any  executors  or 
any  lawyers  bothering  around,"  he  contemptu 
ously  said  to  Maynard  —  who  was  a  lawyer  — 
and  so,  as  a  paradox,  he  entrusted  everything 
to  him. 

Maynard  was  one  of  the  old  generation;  he 
had  a  musty,  old-fashioned  office  down  among 
the  tangled  streets  below  Wall,  where  you  still 

51 


52  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

have  to  climb  the  stairs,  and  the  offices  have 
mantels  in  them,  and  the  janitor  takes  a  fatherly 
interest  in  you,  and  is  willing  to  wait  for  the 
rent  if  it  isn't  convenient  on  "  the  first."  (There 
are  really  a  few  of  those  places  left.) 

Across  the  narrow  hall  from  Maynard's  office, 
Hugh  Graham  had  hung  out  a  brand  new  shingle, 
and  put  in  a  desk  and  a  few  books,  and  started 
in  to  take  Choate's  clients  away  from  him.  But 
somehow,  Choate's  clients  seemed  content  with 
Choate's  advice,  notwithstanding  Hugh  had  come 
to  town;  and  Hugh  sat  in  his  little  office  and 
listened  for  the  footstep  of  the  client  that  it 
seemed  would  never  come.  He  used  to  go  into 
Maynard's  office  and  thrash  out  questions  of 
law,  sociably  and  unprofitably,  until  they  became 
fast  friends. 

And  Hugh  watched  his  small  savings  dwindle 
until  the  scoop  scraped  on  the  bottom  of  the 
barrel,  and  he  knew  that  he  must  replenish  the 
barrel  before  he  could  go  on.  Now  the  refuge 
of  the  young  lawyer  who  can't  "  make  it  go," 
is  to  teach  school;  so  when  the  agency  recom 
mended  him  to  the  school-board  of  Spring  Val 
ley,  at  sixty  a  month  and  found,  he  took  the  job 
and  took  down  his  shingle  —  pro  tern  —  and 
started  for  Spring  Valley. 

Lillian  Kemble  was,  without  doubt,  the  love 
liest  thing  that  ever  climbed  the  rickety  stairs 


Lily,  of  the  Valley  53 

to  old  Mr.  Maynard's  office  to  "  talk  it  over." 
The  City  of  New  York  is  no  place  for  orphaned 
loveliness  sixteen  years  old.  And  so  it  all  came 
about  that  Lillian  should  go  to  the  home  of  May 
nard's  boyhood  friends,  Prudence  and  Samantha, 
up  in  Spring  Valley,  Vermont,  until  such  time 
as  Fate  decreed  a  return.  (And  having  got  Lily 
and  Hugh  in  the  same  town,  the  most  casual 
student  of  the  screen  knows  that  something  is 
going  to  happen.) 

"  Aunt  "  Prudence  took  off  Lily's  rather  mod 
ish  dress  and  hat  (though  Samantha  secretly 
liked  them)  and  they  did  her  hair  in  the  pre 
vailing  fashion  of  Spring  Valley's  best  little 
hairdressers.  And  arrayed  in  the  charm  of  ging 
ham  and  sunbonnet  and  pigtails,  Lily  went  off 
to  school.  The  new  pupil  in  a  country  school 
usually  creates  some  commotion  —  Lily's  case 
was  no  exception  —  "  only  more  so."  But  they 
all  got  acquainted  in  no  time,  and  Jake  and  Josh 
began  to  bring  her  apples  and  posies,  as  is  the 
way  of  swains  in  schools  since  schools  began; 
and  Sally  and  Susan  and  Sadie  worshipped  at 
the  shrine  of  her  beauty  and  her  urban  ways. 
And  Hugh  —  well,  he  just  wouldn't  let  himself 
think  about  her  at  all  —  at  least,  no  more  than 
he  could  help;  though  it  was  pretty  hard  when 
she  looked  straight  into  his  eyes  and  smilingly 
conjugated  "  amo." 


54  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

And  then  the  fly  got  into  the  ointment;  Lily 
tried  to  pass  a  note  to  Susie,  one  day,  and  Hugh 
told  Lily  to  bring  it  to  him.  Now  of  course,  he 
didn't  know  that  the  note  said  "  Isn't  our 
Hughey  the  sweetest  thing?  I  just  love  him." 
But  Lily  did  know  it;  and  she  refused  to  hand 
it  over  —  ab-so-tive-ly !  Discipline  must  be  kept, 
and  so  Lily  was  told  to  remain  after  school  until 
she  was  ready  to  obey  orders.  It  got  late  and 
things  were  still  in  statu  quo.  Jake  and  Josh, 
her  knights  errant,  looked  in  through  the  win 
dow  at  times,  and  tried  to  get  up  enough  courage 
to  go  in  and  rescue  the  princess  from  the  ogre's 
castle  —  or  lick  the  teacher  —  or  something;  but 
Lily  finally  surrendered,  and  handing  Hugh  the 
note,  she  burst  into  tears  as  she  saw  him  open 
it;  and  ran  home  as  fast  as  her  legs  could  carry 
her. 

The  wounded  pride  of  sixteen  is  unrelenting; 
no  more  walks  home  with  Hugh  under  the  elms, 
no  more  '  *  botany  ' '  in  the  woods,  no  more  — 
anything;  not  even  "  Goodbye  "  when  the  term 
closed,  though  she  came  very  near  relenting 
then.  But  a  trustee  with  chin  whiskers  was  talk 
ing  to  him;  and  Hugh  went  back  to  town  with 
only  her  memory  and  the  note;  and  she  had  only 
her  pride  —  in  which  there  wasn't  a  great  deal 
of  comfort  —  and  so,  she  used  to  cry  sometimes 


Lily,  of  the  Valley  55 

into  the  little,  dog-eared  Latin  grammar  where 
it  said  "  amo,  amas,  amat." 

Somehow,  Lily's  three  thousand  dollars  got 
away  from  Old  Man  Maynard  —  he  didn't  mean 
to  use  it  —  but  he  did,  and  he  woke  up  one  day 
to  the  fact  that  the  box  marked  "  Lillian  Kem- 
ble  "  was  empty,  and  he  knew  that  a  "show 
down  "  had  to  come.  So  he  took  a  stiff  drink 
and  sat  down  and  wrote  to  "  Aunt  "  Prudence 
and  told  her  the  whole  thing.  Then  he  called 
in  Hugh,  who  had  got  fairly  prosperous  these 
last  two  years,  though  Choate  hadn't  yet  offered 
him  a  partnership  to  save  the  remnant  of  his 
fast  decreasing  clientele.  He  told  Hugh  that  he 
had  spent  the  money  belonging  to  Lillian,  and  he 
guessed  the  center  span  of  the  bridge  was  about 
high  enough,  etc.,  etc.  The  old  man  had  become 
very  dear  to  Hugh,  these  last  years,  and  Hugh 
still  had  memories  of  a  certain  little  rebellious 
face, in  the  growing  dusk  of  the  school  room  (he 
still  had  the  note  in  his  wallet),  and  of  the  page 
of  the  grammar  that  had  "  amo  "  on  it.  So,  not 
knowing  that  the  Old  Man  had  written  Prudence 
all  about  it,  he  resolved  to  make  good  the  Old 
Man's  deficit  and  save  his  face  to  his  friends  and 
Lily  her  money.  He  went  out  and  sold  his  horse, 
and  mortgaged  his  books,  and  borrowed  at  the 
bank,  and  scraped  up  the  three  thousand;  and 


56  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

came  back  to  find  the  Old  Man  dead  in  his  chair, 
with  his  head  bowed  over  the  Penal  Code,  at  the 
section  defining  Larceny!  This  didn't  change 
Hugh's  purpose  any  —  it  strengthened  it,  if  any 
thing;  and  he  set  out  for  Spring  Valley  "  to 
render  an  account  of  the  stewardship  of  Donald 
Maynard,  deceased. " 

When  Mr.  Maynard 's  letter  came  to  Prudence, 
confessing  his  defalcation,  they  held  a  family 
council,  and  Prudence  decided  —  she  always 
decided  things  for  them  —  that  Lily  and  Saman- 
tha  must  go  down  to  New  York  to  see  if  some 
thing  couldn't  be  done.  Lily  said  she  didn't 
care  two  snaps  for  the  old  money  and  she  wished 
that  "  Uncle  Don  "  could  have  had  more  of  it 
if  it  would  have  made  him  happy.  But  it  was 
decreed  that  she  go.  She  got  out  the  clothes  of 
yesteryear,  and  fixed  them  up  and  laughed  at 
them  —  Samantha  was  in  such  a  flutter  over 
going  to  the  City  that  she  couldn't  help  much. 
And  just  as  they  were  about  to  start,  a  bare 
footed  boy  came  tearing  up  the  road  with  Hugh's 
telegram  telling  them  of  Mr.  Maynard 's  death, 
and  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  see  them,  and  the 
trip  was  off. 

Hugh  landed  in  Spring  Valley  and  walked  the 
old  familiar  road,  and  looked  into  the  window  of 
the  little  red  school  house,  and  marched  up  the 
hollyhock-lined  walk  to  the  front  door.  Prudence 


;' 


Lily,  of  the  Valley  57 

and  Sa1  ha  admitted  him,  and  he  sat  down  in 
the  best  parlor  and  gravely  tried  to  turn  over  the 
three  thousand  dollars  to  the  two  old  ladies. 
Lily  crept  to  the  door  and  heard  every  word. 
Now,  Prudence  and  Samantha  were  no  fools; 
they  saw  through  his  generous  act  at  once, — 
and  so  did  Lily.  And  the  kindly  old  ladies  took 
out  Maynard's  letter  confessing  his  peculation. 
Hugh  tried  to  brazen  it  out,  but  it  was  no  use. 
And  then  he  demanded  to  see  Lily  —  it  belonged 
to  her  —  or  some  three  thousand  dollars  did  — 
and  Lily  tiptoed  up  stairs  as  fast  as  she  could 
go  to  her  room;  she  dare  not  face  him  then,  her 
eyes  would  have  betrayed  her  secret.  She  got 
out  the  Latin  grammar  and  went  down  the  path 
to  the  school  house,  and  sat  in  her  old  seat  —  I 
think  the  minx  knew  he  would  find  her  there  —  I 
did,  and  you  did  —  and  he  did.  He  took  out  the 
little  worn  note,  and  turned  to  "  amo  "  in  the 
book  —  and  further,  deponent  sayeth  not. 


OLD  GOOD-FOR-NUTHIN' 

Produced  by  The  Vitagraph  Company  of  America, 

Featuring  JAY  DWIGGINS,  EDWINA  BOBBINS, 
and  BOBBIE  CONNELLY. 

Directed  by  George  Ridgwell. 

"  Do  I  know  Mr.  Hiram  Peabody?  You  mean 
"  Old  Good-for-Nuthin'!  "  Sure,  I  know  him- 
everybody  knows  him.  Folks  always  call  him 
"  Old  Good-for-Nuthin;  "  an'  I  reckon  that, 
jedged  by  ordinary  standards,  that's  about  his 
size.  He  was  always  a  shif  less,  triflin',  whittlin', 
whistling  jack-knife-tradin'  old  party,  that 
couldn't  be  relied  on  for  nuthin',  at  least  by 
grown-up  people,  les'  'twas  an  engagement  to 
go  fishin',  or  to  play  the  fiddle  at  a  dance  or 
a  corn-huskin'.  He  never  done  no  huskin',  an' 
stuck  pretty  clost  to  the  cider-jug  between  tunes. 
But  one  thing  —  nobody  ever  heared  him  say  a 
cross  or  an  unkind  word  to  a  child,  nor  knew 
him  to  do  a  mean  trick  to  anybody  —  you  got  to 
hand  that  to  him. 

Still,  he  wa'nt  a  particle  of  use  to  anybody, 

58 


Old  Good-for-Nuthin'  59 

let  alone  S'manthy,  his  sister,  that  he  lived  with 
in  a  run-down  place  jes'  beyond  the  fork.  No,  't 
aint  run-down  now;  that's  one  reason  I'm  tellin' 
you  about  him;  tho'  if  't  had  been  left  to  him, 
I  'spose  it  'd  look  jest  the  same  as  it  always 
use'  to.  Le'  me  tell  you. 

Old  Hiram  wa'nt  no  account.  S'manthy  'd 
set  him  choppin'  wood  or  weedin'  the  garden, 
an'  ten  chances  to  one,  some  of  the  kids  would 
come  along,  and  Hiram  'd  stop  whatever  he  was 
doin'  an'  go  off  with  'em  an'  learn  'em  to  set  a 
figure-4  trap,  or  find  a  bee-tree  for  'em,  and 
mebbe  get  all  stung  up  and  give  the  boys  the 
honey,  in  the  end.  S'manthy  'd  send  him  to  the 
store,  an'  there  wa'nt  no  tellin'  when  he'd  come 
back;  or  like  as  not,  he'd  forget  what  he  was 
sent  to  buy  —  mebbe  some  sugar  or  coffee  or 
somethin'  —  an'  he'd  come  home  with  some 
triflin'  thing  like  a  string  of  beads  or  somethin', 
that  he  thought  she'd  like;  an'  she'd  have  to  go 
back  an'  exchange  it  —  an'  Old  Perkins,  who  run 
the  store,  wa'nt  no  great  hand  to  exchange 
nuthin'  he'd  done  sold. 

Certainly  was  the  most  onpractical  cuss !  Leave 
what  he  was  doin'  any  time  to  go  an'  do  some- 
thin'  for  anyone  else  —  an'  him  and  S'manthy 
was  poor  as  Job's  turkey,  too  —  jest  managed 
to  get  along.  How  they  contrived  to  keep  the 
farm  away  from  the  mortgagee  was  a  myst'ry. 


60  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

She  was  gettin'  along  to  the  old-maid  stage 
pretty  fast;  some  said  she'd  had  a  feller,  but  he 
went  West,  an'  nobody  never  heard  of  him  again 
—  not  for  a  considerable  long  spell,  they  didn't. 

JT  any  rate,  right  when  things  was  worst  with 
Hiram  and  S'manthy, —  I  beared  Old  Perkins 
tell  him  flat  that  he  wouldn't  trust  him  for 
another  cent  —  beared  him  with  my  own  ears,  I 
did,  —  right  on  his  way  home,  after  a  callin'- 
down  like  that,  with  nuthin'  in  his  basket,  and 
prob'ly  wonderin'  what  he  was  go  in'  to  say  to 
S'manthy,  what  does  Hiram  do  but  stop  at  Mis' 
Holloway's  house,  seein'  a  crowd  there.  'T 
wa'nt  Mis'  Holloway's  house,  either,  bein'  she 
rented  it,  or  't  least,  owed  rent  for  it  regular, 
bein'  a  widda  woman.  Seems  she  up  an'  died, 
leavin'  a  youngster  'bout  five  years  old,  an'  they 
was  figurin'  on  sendin'  him  to  the  poor  farm, 
him  not  having  no  relatives  livin'.  The  Town 
Commissioner  was  there,  an'  the  Poor  Master, 
an'  it  seemed  nobody  wanted  the  boy  bound  out 
to  ?em,  being'  as  the  boy  would  be  more  bother 
'n  he  was  worth. 

Well,  I  swan,  if  Hiram  don't  up  and  say, 
"  I'll  take  him!  "  An'  they  says,  "  You?  "  An' 
Hiram  says,  "  Yes,  we/"  An'  they  says, 
'  *  What  '11  S'manthy  say?"  An'  Hiram  says, 
bristlin'  up,  "  Never  mind  what  S'manthy  '11 
say!  You  ain't  got  to  hear  it!  " 


Old  Good-for-Nuthin'  61 

They  was  some  doubtful  about  givin'  the  boy 
to  Hiram,  him  bein'  so  shiftless;  but  Hiram  was 
set  on  it,  anr  the  boy  cried  and  wanted  to  go 
with  him,  so  they  let  him  take  him,  though  they 
couldn't  see  where  the  boy  was  goin'  to  be  a  lot 
better  off  'n  he  was  then.  Wa'al,  if  S'manthy 
put  up  a  holler,  nobody  ever  knowed  anything 
about  it,  an'  the  boy  stayed  there  an'  seemed  to 
thrive.  Him  an'  Hiram  kind  o'  made  a  team; 
you  couldn't  pry  'em  apart  no  more  'n  you  could 
these  here  —  now  —  Si  'mese  Twins.  When  you 
seen  one,  you  knowed  the  other  was  clost  by  — 
never  went  nowhere  'cept  together.  An'  Hiram 
learned  him  a  lot  —  I  guess  pretty  much  all  the 
boys  in  town  got  idees  from  Hiram,  at  that  — 
an'  they  managed  to  dress  him  comf 'table  an* 
decent,  an'  kep'  him  fed  up,  though  the  Lord 
knows  how! 

An'  I  swan!  Seems  if  the  luck  didn't  change 
for  Hiram  an'  S'manthy  from  the  day  they  took 
him!  It  wa'nt  a  great  while  before  a  man  come 
to  town  lookin'  for  Mis'  Holloway.  Seems  he 
was  her  brother,  or  some  thin',  and  he  was 
referred  to  Hiram's.  Seems,  too,  he  was  the 
feller  that  had  went  West  on  S'manthy  an' 
hadn't  wrote  for  years,  nor  nuthin'.  An'  't  any 
rate,  he  got  married  to  S'manthy,  an'  is  said  to 
be  pretty  tollable  comf 'table  well  off.  He  fixed 
the  farm  up  slick,  an'  has  a  Ford. 


62  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

But  it  never  made  no  change  in  Old  Good-for- 
Nuthin'.  He's  jest  the  same  shif'less,  triflin', 
whittling  whistlin',  no-account  feller  —  him  an' 
that  boy!  Jest  nacher'ly  no  account!  An'  you 
say  that  he's  proba'ly  heir  to  a  big  bunch  of 
coal-lands  in  Pennsylvany?  Wa'al  I  swan! 

That's  him  now!    That's  Old  Go that's  Mr. 

Peabody  —  the  fat  man  with  the  old  straw  hat 
an'  one  gallus  an'  a  fish-pole.  That's  Mr.  Pea- 
body.  An'  that's  the  Holloway  boy  with  him, 
with  a  fish-pole.  I  reckon  they're  goin'  fishin'." 


TONY 

Produced  by  The  Universal  Film  Company. 
Featuring  KING  BAGGOT. 
Directed  by  Mr.  Lessey. 

Tony  was  broad  of  shoulder  and  deep  of  chest ; 
his  eyes  were  dark  and  fine,  and  his  hair  was 
black  and  curly.  His  heart  sang  within  him  all 
day  long,  as  he  swung  the  heavy  pick  at  "  da 
gooda  job  "  with  Mike  Flanagan,  Contractor. 
For  was  he  not  in  America,  that  Promised  Land 
of  Liberty  and  Plenty,  and  had  he  not,  by  the 
hardest  of  hard  work,  put  enough  dollars  in  the 
bank  so  that  tomorrow  he  would  send  for  pretty 
Giulia,  his  wife,  and  little  Rosa,  the  four-year- 
old  with  a  face  that  might  have  been  painted  by 
a  Eaphaelf  Of  a  truth!  And  Tony  ate  his 
bread  and  onion  with  his  fellows,  in  content 
ment;  and  showed  them  the  picture  of  the  wife 
and  child  that  he  would  send  for  tomorrow. 
Even  the  "  boss  "  looked  at  the  picture,  and 
said,  "  Good  boy,  Tony!  "  And  when  he  got  to 
the  bank  on  that  "  tomorrow, "  there  was  a 

63 


64  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

notice  on  the  door  that  didn't  mean  anything 
to  Tony — -all  he  could  understand  was  that  his 
money  was  gone!  And  as  Tony  looked  at  the 
picture  of  his  wife  and  baby,  he  could  feel  the 
stilletto  in  his  bosom,  and  there  was  murder  in 
his  heart! 

Schuyler  Armitage,  a  man  of  many  millions, 
drove  to  the  bank  in  his  big  car  in  response  to 
the  frantic  appeals  of  the  panic-stricken  directors 
for  his  help.  This  he  agreed  to  give;  but  as  he 
fought  his  way  back  to  his  car  through  the  mad 
dened  crowd,  someone  said  that  Armitage  was 
responsible  for  the  loss  of  their  money;  and  in 
the  blind,  unreasoning  rage  that  sweeps  through 
and  obsesses  a  mob,  they  tried  to  "  get  "  him. 
And  Tony  nearly  did,  but  the  car  outdistanced 
him;  and  he  turned  away,  after  shaking  his  fist 
at  the  receding  car,  muttering,  and  fingering  the 
stilletto  in  his  breast. 

Armitage  drove  into  his  fine  suburban  grounds 
and  Helen,  his  little  five-year-old  daughter,  rode 
up  to  the  car  on  her  pony,  attended  by  a  groom. 
Armitage  lifted  her  from  the  pony  and  kissed 
her  and  they  romped  together,  quite  unconscious 
of  the  malevolent  gaze  of  Tony,  as  he  scowled 
through  the  thick  hedge,  not  far  away.  Armi 
tage  was  improving  his  already  magnificent 
place  by  the  addition  of  an  artificial  lake,  and 
the  men  were  at  work  on  it.  He  and  Helen 


Tony  65 

watched  them  for  a  time,  and  Tony  had  no 
chance  to  settle  his  account.  Then  Armitage 
and  Helen  went  into  the  house,  but  Tony  waited. 

The  contractor  decided  it  was  necessary  to 
blast  a  particularly  hard  spot  and  he  warned 
the  men  back  while  he  adjusted  the  cartridge 
and  the  fuse.  He  lit  the  fuse  and  ran.  Tony 
had  great  respect  for  a  blast  —  he  knew  what  it 
could  do  —  and  he  drew  closer  into  the  hedge. 
Out  of  the  house  came  little  Helen,  romping  with 
a  dog,  and  right  toward  the  deadly  blast  she  ran. 
Tony  saw  her,  and  his  blood  froze.  He  thought 
of  little  Bosa  in  far  away  Italy,  and  all  the  male 
volence  vanished,  and  horror  took  its  place. 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  child  ran  to  the  almost 
certain  death.  Tony  darted  from  his  conceal 
ment,  and  almost  over  the  blast,  he  took  her  in 
his  arms,  and  started  to  run.  There  was  a  tre 
mendous  explosion,  and  when  the  smoke  had 
cleared  away  a  little,  there  was  Helen  uncon 
scious  on  the  ground,  and  Tony  was  covering 
her  with  his  protecting  body  from  the  rain  of 
missiles  and  debris  that  fell  upon  them.  The 
men  rushed  to  them  —  Armitage  was  there  almost 
as  soon  as  anyone  —  but  Tony  staggered  to  his 
feet  with  the  child  in  his  arms,  and  would  not 
give  her  up,  but  carried  her  tenderly  to  the 
house,  and  stood  by  the  bedside  waiting  to  see 
what  he  could  do. 


66  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

"  Get  a  doctor!  "  shouted  Armitage.  The 
butler  and  the  maids  ran  to  the  telephone.  The 
doctor  could  not  leave  a  patient  that  he  had  at 
his  house;  he  was  all  dressed  for  operating. 
"  No,  it  is  impossible, "  and  he  hung  up  the 
'phone.  Armitage  raged.  All  that  Tony  could 
understand  was  that  they  wanted  a  doctor.  He 
slipped  out,  unhitched  a  work  horse  from  a  team, 
mounted,  and  rode  away  urging  the  horse.  A 
nurse  came  to  the  door  of  the  doctor's  house 
when  Tony  pounded  on  it.  He  wanted  the  doc 
tor.  The  doctor  could  not  come.  Tony  pushed 
his  way  in.  The  nurse  told  him  to  get  out. 
Tony  would  not  go,  he  wanted  the  doctor.  The 
doctor  came  out  of  an  inner  room,  dressed  in 
his  operating  suit,  to  see  what  the  fuss  was 
about. 

"  You  doc?  "  said  Tony.  "  Yes,"  said  the 
doctor,  "  Get  out  of  here.  I  cannot  do  anything 
for  you  now."  Tony  grabbed  the  doctor  in  his 
powerful  arms,  and  despite  the  struggles  and 
protests  of  the  man  and  the  efforts  of  the  nurse 
to  prevent,  he  carried  him  like  a  child  to  the 
astonished  horse,  flung  him  across  the  animal 
like  a  sack  of  flour,  mounted  behind  him,  and 
rode  off  like  mad.  .  .  . 

Helen  sat  up  in  bed  and  assured  her  father 
that  she  was  not  in  the  least  hurt,  and  when  he 
had  talked  with  her  for  a  moment,  Armitage  was 


Tony  67 

of  the  same  opinion;  and  indeed,  the  child, 
thanks  to  Tony,  had  been  only  stunned.  But 
into  the  bedroom  Tony  came,  carrying  the  kick 
ing  and  protesting  doctor,  and  "  cashed  him  in  " 
at  the  bedside.  Armitage,  happy  in  the  knowl 
edge  that  his  child  was  uninjured,  saw  the  situa 
tion  and  shrieked  with  laughter;  and  the  doctor 
finally  saw  it  that  way,  too.  He  examined  the 
child,  however,  and  said  that  she  was  unhurt. 

All  this  time,  Tony  had  been  standing  by, 
swaying  a  little  and  getting  whiter  under  the 
tan.  Little  Helen  saw  him  and  called  attention 
to  him ;  but  before  anyone  could  reach  him,  Tony 
collapsed  and  fell  to  the  floor.  Here  was  a  real 
patient  for  the  doctor!  Tony  was  put  into 
Helen's  bed,  and  the  doctor  shook  his  head 
gravely.  .  .  . 

In  the  delirium  of  the  long  fever,  Tony  talked 
wildly  about  the  failure  of  the  bank  and  of 
Giulia  and  little  Eosa,  waiting  in  vain  for  the 
money  that  was  to  bring  them  to  him.  Armitage 
spoke  to  the  doctor,  and  he  seemed  to  approve, 
and  Armitage  hurried  out.  It  wasn't  many  days 
before  Armitage  met  them  at  the  pier  and  drove 
them  away  in  his  big  car  to  the  house.  The  doc 
tor,  nurse,  and  Armitage  stood  at  Tony's  bed-/ 
side,  the  doctor  very  grave. 

"It  is  his  only  chance,"  said  he.  Armitage 
motioned  to  the  nurse,  and  she  admitted  Giulia 


68  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

and  little  Eosa,  well  dressed  and  well  cared  for, 
and  they  stood  at  Tony's  bedside  as  he  tossed 
from  side  to  side.  Then  he  opened  his  eyes,  and 
as  one  who  sees  a  vision,  he  saw  Giulia  and 
Eosa.  He  blinked  dazedly  a  moment,  and  then 
he  held  out  his  arms,  and  Giulia  and  Eosa  knelt 
by  the  bed,  their  heads  upon  his  breast.  Doctor, 
nurse,  and  Armitage  quietly  withdrew,  and  the 
doctor  was  smiling. 

Tony  sat  in  a  big  chair  on  the  piazza,  weak, 
but  on  the  way  to  health.  Giulia  sat  on  the  arm 
of  the  chair,  and  Armitage  stood  behind,  all 
watching  Helen  and  the  small  Eosa  playing  on 
the  floor.  The  little  girls  kissed  each  other 
affectionately.  Armitage  put  his  hand  upon 
Tony's,  and  the  two  hands  clasped.  Tony  should 
worry! 


BLADE  0'  GRASS 

Produced  by  The  Edison  Company. 

Featuring  SHIRLEY  MASON,  PAT  O'MALLEY, 
CHARLES  SUTTON  and  T.  TOMMAMOTO. 

Directed  by  Burton  George 

John  Ward,  something  over  six  feet  of  real 
man,  tethered  the  little  pack  mule,  lifted  his 
four-year-old  daughter  Dorothy  from  its  back, 
unslung  his  axe,  and  started  to  build  a  home  in 
the  far  recesses  of  the  Canadian  woods.  A 
wealthy  and  prominent  lawyer,  he  had  come 
home  one  night  from  a  directors'  meeting,  to 
find  Dorothy  asleep  in  a  big  chair  by  the  fire, 
and  a  note  on  the  table  from  his  wife  in  which 
she  said,  briefly  and  coldly,  that  she  had  deserted 
them  to  go  with  a  man  whom  he  had  deemed  his 
friend;  that  she  knew  how  wrong  it  all  was,  and 
that  he  had  been  the  best  of  husbands,  but  .  .  . 
He  had  arranged  his  affairs,  and  taking  his 
books,  his  daughter,  and  the  mere  necessities  of 
life,  he  treked  into  the  far  wilds,  resolved  to 
renounce  society  forever  for  himself,  and  to 

69 


70  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

bring  his  child  up  apart  from  the  falsity  and 
shams  of  the  world,  and  in  ignorance  of  its 
hollowness  and  deceit. 

So  she  grew  up,  her  only  companions  her 
father,  Nature,  books,  and  her  dog.  He  taught 
her  baby  feet  to  tread,  and  her  baby  eyes  and 
ears  to  see  and  hear  the  wonderful  mysteries  of 
the  woods.  To  her  was  given  —  it  cannot  be 
learned  or  acquired  —  that  almost  uncanny 
understanding  that  sometimes  exists  between  the 
human  and  the  dumb  animal;  birds  and  rabbits 
and  squirrels  knew  and  loved  her  instinctively, 
and  were  not  afraid  to  come  at  her  call;  and 
even  the  fiercer  creatures  of  the  wood  turned 
aside  from  her  path  and  left  her  unmolested. 

Under  her  father's  watchful  eye,  she  lived  in 
The  Land  of  Books.  Evenings,  as  they  sat 
before  the  burning  logs  in  the  cabin,  Ward 
turned  the  pages  and  read;  and  in  the  firelight, 
she  saw  Jack  o'  the  Beanstalk  and  Little  Red 
Eidinghood  go  upon  their  perilous  adventures. 
And  as  she  grew  older,  these  tiny  but  valiant 
heroes  metamorphosed  into  Ivanhoe  and  Laun- 
celot  and  Ulysses,  and  Jason  who  sought  the 
Golden  Fleece.  She  knew  King  Arthur  and 
Oliver  Cromwell  intimately,  but  couldn't  have 
told  you  a  thing  about  Henry  Ford  or  William 
Jennings  Bryan.  She  could  take  off  her  shoes 
and  stockings  and  let  down  her  hair  and  dance 


Blade  o'  Grass  71 

with  all  the  abandon  of  a  bacchante,  but  the  fox 
trot  and  the  lame  duck  were  not  in  her  reper 
toire.  And  thus  she  came  to  maidenhood,  free 
and  ingenuous  as  the  naiads  and  dryads  that 
peopled,  for  her,  every  stream  and  forest,  and 
as  ignorant  of  the  ways  of  men. 

And  now,  too,  there  was  a  new  note  in  the 
whisper  of  the  wind  and  the  murmur  of  the 
stream;  she  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  her 
legs  and  knees  were  bare;  and  when  she  looked, 
Narcissus  like,  into  the  pool,  she  was  more 
pleased  than  ever  before  at  the  face  that  laughed 
back  at  her  from  the  water.  For  Emerson  Pea- 
body  Winthrop  had  come  into  the  wilds  with  gun 
and  rod,  and  she  had  seen  him! 

Emerson  Peabody  Winthrop,  of  Boston  (Back 
Bay),  and  of  course,  Harvard,  didn't  look  at  bit 
like  his  name.  It  takes  quite  a  man  to  come 
alone  into  the  far  Canadian  wilderness,  and  that 
is  what  Emerson  had  done.  He  was  tall  and 
strong  and  young,  and  the  call  of  the  wild 
sounded  in  his  ears.  Of  course,  it  was  inevitable 
that  they  meet,  but  in  the  meeting,  Winthrop 
broke  all  his  Back  Bay  tradition  and  bringing-up 
into  little  bits.  He  peeked  from  behind  a  rock 
and  watched  Dorothy  as  she  danced,  bare-footed 
and  bare-legged,  in  a  glade  in  the  woods,  with 
her  dog  as  her  only  spectator,  as  she  supposed. 
The  dog  nosed  out  Winthrop  in  short  order,  and 


72  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

it  would  be  difficult  to  tell  who  was  the  more 
embarrassed.  But  there  is  a  sort  of  freemasonry 
among  those  who  are  "  on  the  level,"  and  they 
were  soon  chatting  like  old  friends,  although 
Dorothy  had  an  awful  time  pulling  down  her 
dress  over  the  bare  knees.  The  deer  and  the 
rabbits  and  the  squirrels,  who  were  accustomed 
to  come  up  and  get  a  pat  and  a  lump  of  sugar, 
kept  their  distance  now,  and  looked  and  chat 
tered  their  righteous  indignation  at  the  intruder. 
All  too  soon  she  heard  the  horn  blow  —  that  was 
the  way  that  Daddy  used  to  call  her  —  and  she 
danced  away  through  the  brush  with  her  dog, 
looking  back. 

That  evening,  as  she  lay  on  the  floor  before 
the  fire,  turning  the  pages  of  Daddy's  Virgil, 
somehow  she  couldn't  get  interested  in  anything 
Aeneas  did;  for  his  armor  kept  turning  into  a 
khaki  hunting  suit,  and  his  lofty  frown  changed 
into  something  very  like  the  frank  and  boyish 
smile  of  Emerson  Peabody  Winthrop.  She  had 
told  Daddy  of  the  meeting,  and  he  glanced 
sharply  at  her,  now  and  then,  over  his  book, 
noticing  her  abstraction. 

In  due  time,  Winthrop  was  presented  to 
Daddy,  who  didn't  seem  at  all  delighted;  and 
after  he  had  sent  Dorothy  into  the  cabin,  he 
took  Winthrop  aside  and  told  him  that  there 
weren't  any  mats  about  the  place  with  "  Wei- 


Blade  o'  Grass  73 

on  them,  and  that  he  would  take  it  as  a 
favor  if  the  young  man  would  go  away  from 
there  —  a  long  way  —  and  stay  away.  And  Win- 
throp,  like  the  gentleman  he  was,  after  an 
unavailing  remonstrance,  struck  his  camp  and 
hit  the  trail  back  to  Boston  town,  thinking  what 
a  disagreeable  thing  an  old  man  like  Ward  can 
be.  Dorothy,  not  knowing  of  his  dismissal, 
searched  the  woods  for  Winthrop  for  days,  and 
refused  to  be  consoled  by  the  deer  and  rabbits 
and  squirrels  that  now  came  up  and  tried  to  be 
sociable  again.  Evenings  in  the  cabin  weren't 
like  they  used  to  be,  either;  and  the  old  man, 
though  he  tried  his  best  to  justify  himself,  didn't 
feel  altogether  comfortable  about  it. 

"  How  old  is  the  child,  anyway!  "  he  thought. 
"  Bless  my  soul,  it  doesn't  seem  possible  that 
she  is  sixteen!  "  —  but  there  were  the  figures  — 
both  the  calendar's  and  Dorothy's!  And  after 
she  had  crept  off  to  bed,  Ward  got  out  a  packet 
of  old  faded  letters.  One  of  them  was  from  Aunt 
Katherine  Wentworth,  of  Boston.  It  said,  among 
other  things,  .  .  .  "  and  just  because  you  have 
seen  fit  to  bury  yourself  in  the  woods  away  from 
civilization,  there  is  no  reason  that  your  daugh 
ter  should  grow  up  like  a  savage,  and  her  life 
be  deprived  of  its  proper  uses  and  fulfillment," 
.  .  .  and  a  lot  more.  The  old  man  sat  long 
into  the  night  before  the  fire,  smoking  and  think- 


74  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

ing  hard.  And  so  it  turned  out  that  Blade  or 
Grass  went  to  Boston,  to  get  civilized  in  the  aristo 
cratic  and  ultra-exclusive  household  of  Aunt 
Katherine  Went  worth. 

If  anybody  had  the  idea  that  Blade  o*  Grass 
was  going  to  allow  the  Wentworth  home  and  its 
conventional  propriety  to  be  a  sort  of  "  gilded 
cage  "  for  her,  that  body  was  mistaken.  Dorothy 
proceeded  to  break  down,  jump  over,  and  go 
through  the  walls  of  convention  as  though  they 
didn't  exist.  Of  course,  they  were  terribly 
shocked,  and  Aunt  Katherine 's  daughter,  Kath 
erine  Wentworth,  2nd,  tilted  her  aristocratic  nose 
higher  and  higher  at  each  successive  breach  of 
the  conventions  made  by  "  that  little  savage," 
and  even  Aunt  Katherine,  who  was  more  tolerant 
than  could  have  been  expected,  began  to  realize 
that  she  had  considerable  of  a  job  on  her  hands. 
Mr.  Emerson  Peabody  Winthrop  had  been  rather 
attentive  to  Katherine,  2nd,  during  the  winter, 
and  that  young  lady  had  marked  him  for  her 
own.  But  the  moment  that  Winthrop  set  eyes 
upon  Dorothy  again,  Katherine,  2nd,  fell  way 
off  in  the  betting  and  became  an  "  also  ran." 
All  of  which  did  not  exactly  enhance  Dorothy's 
popularity  in  the  Wentworth  household. 

Winthrop  met  Dorothy  and  the  Wentworths 
on  the  fashionable  parade,  and  Dorothy  had  a 
most  forlorn  and  miserable  looking  dog  in  her 


Blade  oy  Grass  75 

arms,  whose  foot  had  been  wounded,  and  which 
she  insisted  on  taking  home  for  treatment. 
Winthrop  at  once  took  the  muddy  dog  to  his 
white-vested  bosom  and  carried  it  for  her,  and 
they  had  a  great  time  bandaging  its  foot,  much 
to  the  disgust  of  Katherine,  2nd.  They  stood 
for  romps  in  the  park  with  a  dozen  dirty  chil 
dren,  wherein  Dorothy  climbed  trees  and  swung 
from  limbs  to  the  consternation  of  policemen, 
and  against  the  peace  and  dignity  of  the  great 
Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts  and  the  ordi 
nance  in  such  case  made  and  provided.  It  took 
quite  a  little  persuasion  to  rescue  her  from  the 
custody  of  one  of  these  outraged  guardians. 
They  also  stood  for  a  most  undignified  horse 
race  between  her  and  Winthrop  along  the 
fashionable  bridle-path,  leaving  the  sniffing 
Katherine,  2nd  to  jog  along  after  them  in  a 
most  embarrassing  loneliness.  They  even  for 
gave  a  dive,  fully  dressed,  from  a  motor-boat, 
on  a  bet  that  she  could  beat  Winthrop  swimming 
to  shore,  while  the  "  very  best  people  in  Bos 
ton  "  looked  through  their  amazed  lorgnettes 
and  monocles,  and  said,  "  My  word!  ' 

But  when  at  a  most  exclusive  dance,  given  by 
the  Wentworths,  Dorothy  told  the  girls  she 
couldn't  dance  the  modern  dances,  but  could 
dance  the  old  Greek  ones;  and  encouraged  by 
the  girls,  she  went  out  into  the  moonlit  garden, 


76  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

and  taking  off  shoes  and  stockings,  and  letting 
down  her  hair,  proceeded  to  show  them  that 
Gertrude  Hoffman  had  nothing  on  her  —  that 
was  Dorothy's  finish!  At  first,  only  the  girls 
were  spectators;  but  many  of  the  young  men 
joined  the  party,  and  by  the  time  the  two 
Katherines  got  there,  Blade  o'  Grass  was  the 
whirling  center  of  attraction  for  most  of  the 
people  at  the  party,  oblivious  to  all  things  but 
the  abandon  of  the  dance. 

Suddenly,  she  became  conscious  of  the  men, 
Aunt  Katherine,  and  all;  and  the  almost  faint 
ing  Aunt  Katherine  saw  a  bare-legged,  bare 
footed  girl,  her  hair  flying  in  wild  disorder, 
gather  up  as  much  of  her  discarded  clothing  as 
she  could  get  in  one  grab,  and  dart  into  the 
house  and  up  the  stairs.  She  locked  herself  in 
her  room,  refusing  to  open  the  door  to  Aunt 
Katherine 's  demands.  Very  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  she  stole  out  of  the  house,  and  took  the  first 
train  back  to  the  woods  and  Daddy. 

When  Winthrop  called,  the  butler  told  him 
that  "  Miss  Ward  had  gone  home,  but  Miss 
Katherine  was  in."  Winthrop  didn't  even  hesi 
tate;  he  ran  down  the  steps  and  he  also  took  a 
train  for  the  woods,  and  succeeded  in  shortening 
the  journey  by  various  means  so  that  he  arrived 
at  the  trading  post  an  hour  or  so  after  her. 

And  it 'was  well  he  did.    It  was  twelve  miles 


Blade  o'  Grass  77 

from  the  post  to  the  Ward  cabin,  but  Dorothy 
set  out  bravely  to  tramp  it,  accompanied  by 
Gerome,  a  half-breed  Indian,  who  was  going  that 
way.  Winthrop  followed  on  a  horse.  As  they 
went  along  the  trail,  the  fires  of  lust  burned  in 
Gerome 's  bosom  and  shone  through  his  eyes. 
At  the  foot  of  the  precipice  where  stood  his 
cabin,  the  half-breed  seized  her,  and  though  she 
put  up  a  hard  fight,  she  was  no  match  for  him; 
and  it  was  only  a  moment  before  she  was  help 
less  and  felt  herself  borne  away  in  his  powerful 
arms  up  the  trail  to  the  cabin.  Once  inside,  he 
bound  and  gagged  her  and  threw  her  onto  the 
bunk. 

But  Winthrop  was  coming  fast  on  the  horse, 
and  the  trampled  ground,  the  broken  brush,  and 
a  shred  or  two  of  Dorothy's  dress  that  had  been 
torn  in  the  struggle,  caught  his  attention.  He 
dismounted  and  followed  the  trail  to  Gerome 's 
cabin,  halooing  as  he  came.  The  half-breed  came 
from  the  cabin  and  met  him  with  stolid,  expres 
sionless  face.  No,  he  had  not  seen  her  and  she 
was  not  there.  Winthrop  knew  that  they  had 
started  together,  and  the  man's  face  belied  his 
words.  He  strode  toward  the  cabin,  and  Gerome 
stopped  him.  A  muffled  call  from  inside  settled  it, 
and  the  fight  began.  Gerome  was  much  more 
powerful  than  Winthrop,  but  the  Saxon  had  some 
thing  in  his  composition  that  offsets  the  mere 


78  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

brute  strength  in  other  races,  and  the  cause  in 
which  he  fought  gave  added  strength  to  Win 
throp 's  arm.  Back  and  forth  they  wrestled,  tot 
tering,  at  times,  almost  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 
Dorothy  rolled  from  the  bunk  and  squirmed  her 
way  to  the  door,  and  bound  and  gagged,  she 
watched  the  fight  —  for  her!  John  Ward  had 
strayed  far  from  his  cabin  that  day  in  seach  of 
game,  and  from  the  ravine  below  he  looked  in 
amazement  at  the  struggle.  Then  he  saw  Doro 
thy  as  she  struggled  to  her  feet,  and  he  saw  the 
bonds  and  the  gag,  and  he  knew.  At  the  very 
edge  of  the  cliff,  Gerome  flung  Winthrop  back, 
and  poised,  for  an  instant,  to  leap  upon  him.  In 
that  instant,  a  bullet  from  John  Ward's  rifle  tore 
through  his  heart,  and  flinging  his  hands  in  the 
air,  the  half-breed  fell  a  hundred  feet  to  the 
rocks  below! 

"  Daddy  "  sat  before  his  cabin  in  the  declin 
ing  sun,  looking  down  the  path  that  led  to  the 
spring,  and  grinning.  Slowly  up  the  path  came 
Blade  o'  Grass  and  Winthrop,  the  bucket  between 
them,  and  their  heads  very  close  together.  Win 
throp  set  down  the  bucket,  and  evidently  intended 
to  speak  to  the  old  man,  but  made  an  awful  mess 
of  it.  Ward  looked  at  them  both,  and  his  face 
broke  into  a  smile;  and  Blade  o'  Grass  came  to 
him  with  a  rush  and  buried  her  blushing  face  in 
his  breast.  "  All  right,''  said  Ward  to  the  stain- 


Blade  o'  Grass  79 

mering  Winthrop,  "  I  know  what  you're  trying 
to  say,  and  I'm  in  favor  of  it,"  and  he  put 
Dorothy's  hand  in  Winthrop 's.  And  then,  grin 
ning,  he  said,  "  And  now,  suppose  you  two  go 
down  to  the  spring  and  get  some  water  —  you 
brought  the  bucket  back  empty!  " 


THE  HOUSE  CAT 

Produced  under  the  title,  " Man's  Woman. " 

Produced  by  The  World  Film  Co.— W.  A.  Brady. 

Featuring  ETHEL  CLAYTON. 

Directed  by  Travers  Vale. 

According  to  generally  accepted  standards, 
marriage  is  the  culmination  and  finality  of  a 
woman 's  life.  Once  she  is  married,  her  indi 
viduality  is  supposed  to  expire,  and  even  in  the 
eye  of  the  law,  she  is  classed  with  aliens,  idiots, 
and  other  incompetents.  A  husband's  relatives, 
and  usually  the  husband  himself,  demand  that 
her  life  be  little  different  from  that  of  a  house 
cat.  If  she  be  well  dressed,  well  fed,  and  well 
housed,  that  is  enough  —  ' '  What  more  does  she 
want?  "  The  idea  that  she  share  in  her  hus 
band's  life  and  pursuits,  or  that  she  have  any 
thing  approximating  individuality  or  independ 
ence,  is  not  to  be  entertained.  And  many  women 
are  satisfied  with  that  sort  of  existence  —  a  nar 
row  horizon,  an  ivy-like  dependence,  and  a  will- 
so 


The  House  Cat  81 

ingness  to  conform  to  what  are  called  conven 
tions.  Content,  if  the  saucer  of  milk  be  warm 
and  plentiful,  the  cushion  soft,  the  ribbon  pretty 
and  properly  adjusted,  and  if  an  occasional 
caress  is  bestowed. 

But  Desire  Galloway  was  not  of  these.  She 
was  eighteen,  ambitious,  energetic,  capable,  and 
a  "  doer  of  things. "  All  her  life,  she  had  lived 
alone  in  the  big  house  with  Grandpa  Galloway, 
a  rich  man,  and  a  student  and  thinker.  He  had 
supervised  her  education,  her  reading,  and  her 
amusements,  and  gave  her  rather  a  free  rein  in 
her  conduct  of  life.  The  other  details  of  her 
bringing  up  had  been,  and  were  yet  to  some 
extent,  attended  to  by  Mary  Ellen  Ryan. 

Mary  Ellen  was  about  fifty;  of  ample  propor 
tions,  sound  common  sense,  and  the  courage  of 
her  convictions,  and  had  been  in  the  family  for 
thirty  years.  She  had  seen  "  Young  Galloway  " 
become  "  Old  Man  Galloway;  "  she  had  seen 
Desire  born,  and  her  mother  die;  and  she  had 
lavished  upon  the  child  all  the  tenderness  and 
solicitude  of  a  mother.  She  loved  Desire  better 
than  anything  on  earth  —  or  in  the  heavens 
above  or  the  waters  under  the  earth,  for  that 
matter.  Mary  Ellen's  pet  aversion  was  English 
butlers  —  (but  that  isn't  confined  to  Mary  Ellen.) 

Naturally,  under  these  conditions,  Desire  grew 
to  young-womanhood  with  a  mind  of  her  own, 


82  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

self-reliant,  and  full  of  initiative.  She  was  given, 
too,  to  helping  others,  and  Grandpa's  house  was 
frequently  visited  by  those,  who,  to  say  the  least, 
were  not  on  the  visiting  lists  of  others  in  the 
neighborhood.  The  English  butler,  Hawkins,  was 
the  natural  enemy  of  such;  but  the  belligerent 
Mary  Ellen  usually  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  Who  are  you,"  she  would  say  to  Hawkins, 
"  that  ye'd  be  turnin'  these  people  away?  Didn't 
Miss  Desiray  give  orders  that  she'd  see  any  wan, 
day  or  night?  J 

Thus  was  Desire  when  she  came  to  the  age 
where  men  sought  her  in  marriage.  The  pursuit 
of  her  had  narrowed  down  to  two;  that  is,  there 
were  two  among  the  multitude  who  still  pursued 
that  seemed  to  have  any  chance.  James  Graham, 
a  brilliant  young  lawyer-politician,  reputed  to  be 
high  in  favor  with  Mike  Carney,  the  Boss  who 
held  the  town  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand;  and 
Roger  Kendal,  also  a  lawyer,  and  of  wealth  and 
family  —  accent  on  the  family. 

For  years  Kendal  had  lived  with  his  two 
maiden  aunts,  Lucretia  and  Harriet,  in  the  old, 
aristocratic  house  in  Grammercy  Square,  the  dim 
interior  of  which,  with  its  stately  and  severe  fit 
tings,  fairly  breathed  exclusiveness  and  "  fam 
ily."  Everything  betokened  correctness  and 
decorum.  Even  the  old  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
in  point  lace  and  silks,  and  in  high  chokers  and 


The  House  Cat  83 

broadcloth,  that  looked  grimly  from  their  frames 
on  the  walls,  seemed  like  monitors  whose  pic 
tured  lips  would  open  in  protesting  speech  at 
any  violation  of  convention  or  of  family  tradi 
tion.  Here,  the  fat,  fussy,  and  inconsequential 
Lucretia,  and  the  thin  and  soulful  Harriet,  aided 
and  abetted  by  an  excessively  English  butler, 
held  sway;  and  watched  over  and  coddled  Roger, 
the  one  man  in  the  family,  since  his  boyhood. 
They  knew  that  some  day  Roger  would  marry 
—  he  must,  of  course  —  and  they  "  hoped  the 
girl  would  make  him  a  good  wife,  but  .  .  . ' ' 
Both  Jimmy  Graham  and  Roger  Kendal  came 
to  the  party  —  girls  like  Desire  must  give  par 
ties —  and  this  one  turned  out  to  be  quite  an 
affair.  Desire  superintended  the  arrangements 
herself,  even  to  standing  on  the  top  of  a  step 
ladder  in  an  extremely  hazardous  position,  with 
Mary  Ellen  on  one  side,  and  Hawkins  on  the 
other,  to  catch  her  if  she  fell,  which  she  did  not, 
even  when  she  banged  her  thumb  with  the  ham 
mer.  Grandpa  Galloway  came  in  to  admire  the 
decorations,  and  Desire  hustled  him  out  to  be 
sure  that  he  got  dressed  in  time.  Grandpa 
started  with  the  intention  of  getting  dressed,  but 
he  was  a  student,  and  he  stopped,  "  just  a 
moment,"  in  the  library;  and  there  Desire,  her 
self  half  dressed,  found  him  an  hour  afterward, 
deep  in  some  problem.  And  getting  absorbed  in 


84  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

it  herself,  she  helped  him  with  it,  forgetful  of 
time,  until  Hawkins  came  in  and  gave  them  a 
"  beg-pawdoned  "  warning  that  it  was  nearly 
time  for  the  guests  to  arrive. 

A  lot  of  things  happened  at  the  party,  not  the 
least  of  which  was  the  rivalry  between  Jimmy 
Graham  and  Roger  Kendal  for  Desire's  favors. 
But  toward  the  end,  Roger  got  Desire  into  a 
secluded  nook  among  the  plants  and  with  only 
one  interruption,  which  was  when  some  of 
Desire's  charity  proteges  came,  he  put  the  ques 
tion  to  her  squarely. 

And  dear  little  Desire  looked  at  him  and  said, 
"  My  heart  tells  me  to  say  *  Yes,'  Roger,  but  I 
have  so  many  things  that  I  want  to  do  in  the 
world  —  big,  useful,  helpful  things.  And  are  you 
sure  that  if  we  were  married  I  won't  have  to 
give  up  all  my  plans  and  ambitions?  " 

Roger  assured  her  that  it  would  make  no  dif 
ference  —  and  he  meant  it.  And  after  a  moment, 
she  laid  her  head  upon  his  pearl  studs  and  put 
her  arms  about  his  neck.  Part  of  which  action 
Jimmy  Graham  saw  as  he  came  upon  them;  but 
backed  out,  like  a  gentleman,  before  they  saw 
him. 

Roger  took  home  the  "  glad  "  news  to  the  two 
aunts,  breaking  it  to  them  gently  —  "  I'm  going 
to  marry  Desire  Galloway!  "  he  said.  And  that 
night,  late,  when  Desire  and  Roger  were  thinking 


The  House  Cat  85 

happy  thoughts  and  building  castles  for  the 
future,  old  Grandpa  Galloway  sat  in  the  big 
library;  but  no  book  was  open  before  him;  and 
when  Hawkins  came  in  to  ask  if  he  wanted  any 
thing,  Grandpa  didn't  hear  him,  and  Hawkins 
tip-toed  out.  The  two  aunts  put  their  arms 
about  each  other  and  wept  copiously,  and  with 
shaking  heads  and  woeful  faces,  they  "  hoped 
she  would  make  him  a  good  wife  —  but  .  .  .  " 
It  is  hard  to  believe  that  the  three  ensuing 
years  could  have  made  the  Desire  Galloway  of 
eighteen  into  the  Desire  Kendal  of  twenty-one. 
Three  years  with  Eoger,  immersed  in  his  law  — 
he  was  now  an  Assistant  under  District  Attorney 
James  Graham,  Mike  Carney  having  "  come 
through  "  with  his  promise  and  got  Graham  the 
nomination  and  election  —  three  years  with  the 
aunts  and  with  the  pictures  —  don't  forget  those 
awful,  spying,  sentinel  family  portraits!  —  had 
so  wrapped  the  red  tape  of  convention  around 
Desire  that  she  felt  herself  no  longer  a  free 
agent.  And  all  unconsciously !  It  all  seemed  the 
right  thing,  too,  —  impeccable.  She  had  every 
care  and  attention  possible;  no  one  was  in  the 
least  unkind  to  her.  She  didn't  even  have  to 
think  —  they  all  thought  for  her  —  that  was  the 
trouble,  and  she  conformed  to  their  schedule. 
The  saucer  was  warm  and  full,  the  cushion  was 
soft,  the  ribbon  was  pretty,  and  she  was  caressed 


86  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

—  properly  and  formally.  A  baby  had  come  to 
them  —  she  was  two  years  old  now  —  and  her 
name  was  "  Lucretia  Harriet!  " 

"  After  Roger's  two  aunts,"  she  explained  to 
Graham,  whom  she  met  in  the  Park  one  morn 
ing;  adding,  almost  apologetically,  "  Those  are 
old  family  names  among  the  Kendals."  She 
was  having  quite  a  pleasant  little  chat  with 
Graham,  but  she  suddenly  looked  at  her  watch 
and  explained  that  she  would  be  late  for  break 
fast,  and  she  and  the  nurse  and  the  baby  hurried 
off.  Jimmy  Graham  looked  after  her,  and  his 
face  expressed  many  things.  Jimmy  Graham 
was  a  hard  loser. 

The  aunts  were  exchanging  glances  at  her 
vacant  chair  when  she  came  in.  "  I  stayed 
longer  in  the  park  than  I  intended, "  said  Desire 
with  the  air  of  a  culprit.  "  I  hope  you  didn't 
wait  for  me?  ' 

Roger  was  surrounded  by  the  usual  pile  of 
mail  and  papers,  and  he  seemed  worried  about 
something.  After  regarding  him  for  some  time, 
Desire  ventured  to  ask  him  if  anything  was 
wrong.  "  No,  dear,  just  something  at  the  office. 
Nothing  that  you  would  understand  at  all." 

Before  Roger  left,  the  baby  was  brought  in  for 
him  to  kiss,  and  the  aunts  gathered  round,  too, 
and  paid  homage  to  it  —  Desire  sat  at  the  other 


The  House  Cat  87 

end  of  the  table,  out  of  it.  When  Roger  left, 
Desire  went  with  him  to  the  door,  the  nurse  tak 
ing  advantage  of  this  to  tell  the  aunts  that 
11  Mrs.  Kendal  talked  so  long  to  Mr.  Graham  in 
the  park  that  the  baby's  breakfast  was  late." 

At  the  door,  Roger  kissed  his  wife  dutifully; 
then  turned  back  and  gave  her  several  bills  from 
his  wallet.  She  took  them  listlessly.  When  he 
had  gone,  she  stood  looking  at  them  with  unsee 
ing  eyes  and  wistful  face.  Across  her  vision 
came  a  picture  of  the  house  cat  with  its  saucer 
and  cushion  and  ribbon.  Then  she  turned  slowly 
and  went  up  the  stairs. 

When  District  Attorney  Graham  put  Roger  in 
charge  of  the  prosecution  of  the  gambling  ring, 
he  did  it  more  as  a  matter  of  form  to  satisfy  a 
public  demand  that  many  of  the  pre-election 
promises  be  fulfilled.  Graham  was  a  close  friend 
of  Carney,  the  Boss,  and  the  Boss  had  close  and 
profitable  affiliation  with  the  gambling  ring. 
And  it  was  intended  that  the  "  investigation  j: 
take  the  usual  form  of  a  "  white-wash, "  and  be 
a  perfunctory  and  useless  thing.  And  after  the 
"  investigation,"  the  chips  would  rattle  merrily 
again  and  the  Boss  would  "  get  his,"  as  per 
usual. 

But  Roger  went  at  it  with  a  zeal  entirely  unex 
pected,  and  dug  so  deep  into  the  matter  that  the 


SS  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

gamblers  came  shrieking  to  the  Boss,  and  the 
Boss  went  down  to  see  Graham  to  order  "  that 
damned  fool  Kendal  "  to  be  called  off. 

The  Boss  was  an  icy  proposition,  incisive  as 
a  razor,  with  plenty  of  brains.  He  did  not  wear 
a  huge,  black  moustache,  nor  yet  a  high  silk  hat ; 
he  did  not  talk  out  of  the  side  of  his  mouth,  or 
with  a  cigar  between  his  teeth.  Also,  he  did  not 
drink.  He  was  very  deliberate,  and  he  looked 
like  a  very  successful  Captain  of  Industry  — 
which,  indeed,  he  was. 

After  the  Boss's  visit  Graham  called  in  E 
and  si:.  1  that  he  drop  the  gambling  Ci> 

and  take  up  some  murder  indictments  that  ought 
to  be  tried.  Nothing  doing !  —  Eoger  told  Gra 
ham  that  to  drop  the  gambling  cases  would  spell 
political  ruin  for  them  both;  that  the  newspapers 
were  throwing  a  lot  of  limelight  on  the  matter, 
and  that  the  office  must  go  on. 

Graham  knew  Eoger  was  right,  and  he  also 
knew  that  if  he  called  him  off,  Boger  would  take 
his  evidence  to  the  Governor  and  get  himself 
appointed  a  Deputy  Attorney  General  to  prose 
cute.  This  would  do  the  Boss  no  good,  and 
would  hurt  the  District  Attorney's  office  irrep 
arably.  So  he  told  Boger  to  go  ahead;  but 
thereafter,  Eoger  met  many  obstacles,  which,  inci 
dentally,  didn't  stop  him  at  all.  Witnesses  and 
papers  disappeared,  but  Boger  ploughed  along. 


The  House  Cat  89 

informing  Graham  that  he  was  getting  to  the 
bottom  of  things,  or  rather,  to  the  top  —  all  of 
which  was  not  especially  good  news  to  Graham 
or  the  Boss. 

In  the  life  of  the  house  cat,  one  day  is  just 
like  another.  Desire  often  sought  refuge  in  the 
nursery  with  the  baby;  but  the  nurse  —  one  of 
the  "  efficiency  "  kind  —  was  always  on  the  job, 
and  the  aunts  came  in,  too.  "  Desire,  dear,  I 
wouldn't  let  little  Lucretia  Harriet  have  that  old 
towel;  there  are  probably  germs  on  it.  And  I 
think  that  romping  excites  her  too  much.  She 
should  have  her  nap  now."  So  Desire  would 
hand  over  the  baby  to  the  nurse,  and  follow  the 
aunts  down  to  the  library,  where,  in  the  presence 
of  the  family  portraits,  Desire  would  do  a  little 
tatting,  for  excitement. 

Left  alone  there,  her  work  would  fall  in  her 
lap,  and  she  would  look  up  into  the  austere  face 
of  Grandmother  Kendal  on  the  wall,  and  assur 
ing  herself  that  she  was  alone  —  if  one  could 
ever  be  alone,  with  those  pictures  in  the  room, 
—  she  would  make  a  face  at  Grandma  Kendal, 
and  then  sit  and  think.  Her  reputation  for  char 
ity  had  followed  her,  and  people  came  to  the 
house  to  see  her  when  in  need,  and  she  went  to 
the  slums  to  see  them  —  that  is,  they  did  at  first. 
But  the  aunts  suggested  that  such  visits  were 
not  only  contrary  to  the  code  of  social  ethics  of 


90  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

the  family,  but  very  probably  would  be  a  vehicle 
for  contagion  to  the  baby;  and  so  those  things 
went  out  of  her  life. 

Once  in  a  while,  someone  would  break  through 
the  barrier.  Old  Man  Regan  did,  one  time  when 
his  son,  Jimmy,  got  "  pinched  for  somethin'  he 
never  done."  The  butler  wouldn't  let  Mr.  Regan 
and  his  ragged  little  grand-daughter  in,  but 
Desire  went  down  the  front  steps  in  the  rain 
to  see  him;  and  as  Roger  came  along  just  then, 
the  case  was  explained  to  him,  and  he  got  young 
Mr.  Jimmy  Regan  off,  after  an  investigation ;  for 
which  the  Regans  were  duly  grateful. 

Incidentally,  it  was  the  best  day's  work  Roger 
ever  did.  Desire  stole  out  one  day  to  see  how 
they  were  getting  on,  and  Old  Man  Regan  pro 
duced  Jimmy  proudly  and  said  he  had  a  good 
job,  "  tendin'  bar,"  and  that  thanks  to  her,  they 
were  "  gettin'  on  fine."  Jimmy  was  bashfully 
and  genuinely  "  much  obliged  to  meet  "  her,  and 
two  minutes  afterwards,  he  was  ready  to  bow 
down  and  worship.  The  Old  Man  told  Jimmy, 
after  Desire  had  left,  that  if  Jimmy  ever  forgot 
what  Desire  had  done  for  them  as  a  family,  and 
for  him  in  particular,  he  would  "  knock  his  block 
off."  Jimmy  didn't  forget.  Desire  held  a  regu 
lar  reception  in  the  street  of  people  that  she  had 
known,  and  finally  got  back  home,  with  nobody 
the  wiser. 


The  House  Cat  91 

The  faithful  Mary  Ellen  Eyan  had  mourned 
the  departure  of  Desire  from  the  Galloway  home 
for  three  years,  permitting  herself  but  one  visit, 
—  when  the  baby  was  born.  She  saw  Desire 
when  she  came  to  see  Grandpa  occasionally,  and 
her  keen  old  eyes  told  her  that  all  was  not  right 
with  the  girl.  And  so,  one  day,  Mary  Ellen  put 
on  her  best  bib  and  tucker,  bought  a  woolly  dog 
for  the  baby,  and  went  to  the  Kendal  house.  The 
excessively  English  butler  opened  the  door,  and 
looking  Mary  Ellen  over,  said,  loftily,  "  All 
goods  delivered  in  the  rear." 

If  Desire  had  not  come  through  the  hall  just 
then,  there  is  no  telling  what  might  have  hap 
pened.  But  Desire  embraced  the  old  soul,  and 
with  her  arm  about  her,  led  her  up  to  the  nursery, 
where  they  had  a  play  with  the  baby  and  a  long 
talk.  The  aunts  came  in  finally,  and  greeted  Mary 
Ellen  patronizingly. 

"  I'm  comin'  to  stay  as  maid  to  Mis*  Desiray, 
Ma'am,"  calmly  announced  Mary  Ellen.  "  Mr. 
Galloway  do  be  closin'  the  house  while  he  goes 
to  Florida,  an'  he'll  not  be  needin'  me.  I 
brought  her  up  from  a  baby,  an'  I'll  be  that 
glad  to  be  servin*  her  agin."  This  announce 
ment  did  not  awaken  any  great  enthusiasm  in 
the  aunts;  but  they  couldn't  really  see  any  way 
to  prevent  the  arrangement,  and  were  forced  to 


92  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

accept  it  with  the  best  grace  possible.  And  thus 
came  Mary  Ellen  into  the  household. 

Of  course,  there  was  to  be  a  conflict  with  the 
nurse  —  inevitably.  Mary  Ellen  started  right  in 
to  bring  it  about.  She  upset  some  of  the  nurse's 
pet  arrangements,  and  at  a  mild  protest  from 
the  nurse,  Mary  Ellen  looked  at  her  —  most  any 
one  was  apt  to  feel  uncomfortable  when  Mary 
Ellen  looked  at  her  that  way  — "  Don't  be 
talkin'  nonsinse!  "  said  Mary  Ellen,  with  supe 
rior  wisdom.  "  I  brought  up  eight  children 
before  you  were  born,  an'  they're  all  on  the 
police  foorce.  Go  open  that  windy,  and  then 
bring  me  the  baby's  brush  an'  comb,  like  a  good 
gurl."  For  a  moment  the  nurse  hesitated,  then 
she  opened  the  window  and  brought  the  brush 
and  comb!  Desire  looked  at  Mary  Ellen  in 
positive  idolatry. 

The  gambling  situation  was  getting  acute. 
Graham  dined  one  evening  at  the  Kendal's,  and 
little  did  Eoger  suspect  that  the  same  Graham 
was  to  meet  Carney  and  some  of  the  gamblers 
later  for  a  conference!  Graham  had  been  drink 
ing  a  little  before  he  came,  and  he  drank  con 
siderable  at  the  dinner;  and  he  conducted  him 
self  in  a  manner  that  was,  to  say  the  least,  a 
little  indiscreet.  He  directed  most  of  his  talk  to 
Desire,  reminding  Eoger  how  he  used  to  call  her 
"  Desire  "  in  the  old  days,  and  telling  Roger 


The  House  Cat  93 

that  lie  would  never  forgive  him  for  cutting  him 
out.  The  aunts  failed  not  to  notice  these  things 
—  even  Roger  was  a  little  piqued,  but  he  brushed 
the  feeling  aside.  It  is  possible  that  Desire  per 
mitted  the  man  to  be  marked  in  his  attentions  — 
he  was  her  husband's  Chief  —  and  she  was  a 
little  flattered  at  the  attention  of  so  distinguished 
a  man.  The  aunts  called  Eoger 's  attention  to 
the  matter  after  dinner,  but  he  laughed  at  them 
and  said  that  "  there  was  nothing  in  it."  He 
knew  Desire.  Desire  was  even  then  in  the  nur 
sery  with  her  sleeping  baby.  Mary  Ellen  opened 
the  door  softly  and  looked  in  pleased  at  the 
sight.  The  nurse  came  also  and  was  for  going 
in  and  stopping  it;  but  one  big,  powerful  hand 
of  Mary  Ellen  closed  upon  the  nurse's  arm 
and  turned  her  about  and  headed  her  down  the 
hall,  and  the  other  shut  the  door  softly.  Score 
number  two  for  Mary  Ellen. 

Carney  and  the  gamblers  waited  the  coming  of 
Graham.  At  last  he  came.  "I'm  taking  a  big 
chance  coming  here  to  you,  Carney,"  he  said. 
"  If  the  newspapers  .  .  ."  That  was  as  far 
as  he  got.  "  I  couldn't  keep  you  away  from  me 
before  election,"  said  Carney;  and  that  was 
about  all  in  that  strain.  Graham  protested  his 
loyalty,  and  also  his  inability  to  choke  off  Roger, 
saying  that  they  would  still  be  up  against  the 
Governor. 


94  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Carney  thought  a  long  time,  after  he  had  sent 
the  others  out  of  the  room  and  the  two  men  were 
alone.  He  looked  at  Graham  in  his  cold,  sneer 
ing  way,  and  said,  "  Well,  if  you  can't  do  it, 
there  are  those  that  can.  From  what  I  hear,  you 
wouldn't  shed  many  tears  if  something  happened 
to  Kendal,  would  you  ?  ' ' 

Graham  paused  in  the  act  of  lighting  a  cigar 
ette,  and  the  two  men  looked  at  each  other  —  it 
took  a  little  time  for  Graham  to  "  get  "  the 
meaning!  .  .  . 

And  so  it  came  to  pass,  that  certain  interests 
considered  it  advisable  to  consult  with  Mr.  Dopey 
Louie.  Louie  was  a  slender  and  well  groomed 
East  Side  young  man  whose  occupation  was 
* '  sniffing  coke  ' '  —  a  *  '  snowbird, ' '  in  other 
words  —  or,  in  English,  he  sought  solace  and 
surcease  of  care  in  inhaling  quantities  of  cocaine 
from  the  back  of  his  hand.  At  other  times,  he 
took  in  a  little  plain  and  fancy  murdering,  as  a 
side  line,  and  could  be  hired,  for  a  really  trifling 
consideration,  to  "  remove  "  objectionable  per 
sons.  Louie  frequented  the  tawdry,  red-plush- 
and-mirrors  back  room  of  Slattery's  saloon;  in 
fact,  Louie  made  rather  an  office  of  the  place, 
and  here  he  transacted  his  business.  Here  the 
emissary  of  the  gamblers  came,  saw,  and 
engaged  him. 

Unfortunately   for   certain   people,    Slattery's 


The  House  Cat  95 

was  the  place  where  Jimmy  Began  had  "  the 
good  job  tendin'  bar."  At  the  first  interview, 
Jimmy  Began  caught  only  a  few  words  of  the 
interview,  and  did  not  pay  a  great  deal  of  atten 
tion  to  it,  supposing  it  was  just  a  plain,  ordinary 
murder  that  was  going  to  be  "  pulled  off."  He 
caught  the  words,  "  Be  here  Thursday  night  . 
.  .  perfectly  safe  .  .  .  District  Attorney 
knows  all  about  it."  He  thought  little  of  the 
matter,  but  somehow,  he  kept  "  Thursday 
night  "  in  his  mind. 

Before  Thursday  night,  however,  many  things 
happened.  In  fact,  that  very  evening,  when  the 
Steerer  was  bargaining  for  Boger 's  murder, 
Boger  sat  in  the  library,  surrounded  by  papers 
and  letters.  Before  him  lay  one  of  the  evening 
papers ;  in  it  were  glaring  headlines  to  the  effect 
that  Kendal  had  the  gamblers  on  the  run,  that 
many  indictments  were  to  be  found  against  men 
"higher  up,"  and  that  his  own  life  had  been 
threatened  in  anonymous  letters.  Desire  came 
in  and  stood  behind  his  chair,  and  seeing  that  he 
was  worried,  she  pleaded  with  him  to  share  his 
troubles  with  her. 

She  started  to  take  up  the  newspaper,  and 
Boger  tried  to  prevent  her;  the  long  strain  gave 
way,  and  she  burst  out  passionately,  "  Boger, 
why  will  you  always  treat  me  as  though  I  were 
a  child,  a  pet,  an  incompetent?  Why  can't  I 


96  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

share  your  life?  Do  you  think  it  is  enough  for 
me  to  be  well  dressed,  well  fed,  and  comfortably 
housed?  " 

Eoger  was  surprised  at  the  outbreak,  and 
sought  to  pacify  her;  he  put  his  hand  upon  her 
caressingly;  she  shook  it  off  roughly.  "  Don't 
pet  me!  don't  stroke  me  as  though  I  were  a  cat! 
O,  the  monotony  of  it  all."  Poor  Eoger  didn't 
know  how  to  do  anything  but  pet  her.  She  took 
up  the  paper,  though  he  tried  to  stop  her.  Her 
face  filled  with  horror  as  she  read ;  she  appealed 
to  him  to  let  her  help  him,  protect  him,  any 
thing;  but  he  assured  her  that  there  was  nothing 
to  fear.  Then  he  kissed  her  and  turned  to  his 
desk.  Poor  Desire  looked  at  him  in  despair; 
then  turned  away  helplessly,  realizing  that  she 
had  accomplished  nothing,  and  that  a  house  cat 
is  a  house  cat,  after  all. 

It  is  probable  that  to  the  rum-soaked  mind  of 
the  District  Attorney  —  Graham  was  drinking 
heavily,  these  days  —  Eoger  Kendal  appeared 
as  good  as  out  of  the  way,  and  that  it  was 
only  a  matter  of  time  when  Desire  would  be 
his  own.  At  any  rate,  he  called  on  Desire,  with 
a  huge  box  of  roses,  on  Wednesday  afternoon, 
and  succeeded  in  making  quite  an  ass  of  him 
self,  in  spite  of  all  Desire  could  do  to  prevent 
him;  telling  her,  among  other  things,  that  he 


The  House  Cat  97 

had  never  quite  given  her  up,  and  that  anything 
in  the  world  he  could  do  for  her  would  be  his 
dearest  wish.  Desire  did  not  want  actually  to 
break  with  the  man  —  her  husband's  chief,  re 
member —  and  she  passed  it  over  as  best  she 
could.  But  the  aunts  —  Oh,  they  were  on  the  job. 

And  it  was  all  duly  reported  to  Eoger.  He 
sent  for  Desire,  and  she  came  inquiringly;  he 
indicated  the  roses,  and  Desire  admitted  that 
Graham  had  brought  them  and  admitted  some 
of  the  nonsense  he  had  said.  For  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  Roger  was  stern  with  her;  he  forbade 
any  further  association  with  Graham,  and  told 
her  that  if  he  called  again,  he  was  not  to  be 
admitted.  Then  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
stalked  out.  Desire  was  very  meek  and  acquies 
cent.  But  when  Eoger  had  gone,  just  the  faint 
est  smile  came  into  her  face  as  she  stood  there  — 
anything  is  better  than  monotony!  .  .  . 

Thursday  night  came,  and  with  it  the  final 
arrangements  between  Dopey  Louie  and  the 
Steerer.  Dopey  Louie  had  taken  just  one  sniff 
too  many,  and  because  of  this,  he  got  it  mixed. 
"  No,  No!  "  said  the  Steerer,  impatiently,  and 
unconsciously  raising  his  voice  a  little  —  just 
enough  so  that  Jimmy  Eegan  heard  —  "  Not  the 
District  Attorney  —  Kendal,  his  assistant!  Get 
that  right!  "  and  it  was  all  diagrammed  for  him 


98  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

again.  Louie  impatiently  and  belligerently  said 
he  understood,  and  slouched  out,  the  Steerer 
remaining. 

Kendal !  The  man  who  had  got  him  off !  The 
husband  of  the  little  lady  who  had  done  so  much 
for  Grandpop  and  the  kid!  Jimmy  proceeded 
to  act.  His  first  impulse  was  to  telephone;  but 
that  would  be  suicidal;  the  telephone  was  in 
that  room  and  Louie  was  not  without  friends. 
So  he  hastily  scribbled  a  note  to  Mrs.  Kendal, 
in  his  poor,  illiterate  way  —  it  was  the  best 
thing  he  could  think  of  —  and  calling  a  ' '  bum  ' : 
outside  the  door,  he  sent  him  post-haste  with 
it  to  the  Kendal  home.  Roger  had  missed  some 
papers  and  had  gone  down  to  the  office  for  them; 
there  he  searched  for  a  long  time  but  could  not 
find  them.  The  "  bum  "  had  his  troubles  get 
ting  to  and  into  the  Kendal  home  —  police  stop 
bums  who  run  at  night;  and  butlers  close  doors 
in  bums'  faces  —  but  Jimmy's  instructions  had 
been  sufficiently  impressive  about  the  importance 
of  his  mission,  and  the  bum  finally  got  the  note 
into  Desire's  hands. 

It  read,  "  mrs  kendle  dopey  Louie  gang  has 
your  husban  framed  up  to  croak  him  tonite 
districk  attorney  in  with  the  play  act  quick  " 

She  asked  the  bum  about  it.  He  knew  enough 
to  know  nothing,  but  got  a  tip  and  fled.  The 
butler  laboriously  explained  it.  Then  Desire 


The  House  Cat  99 

got  busy.  She  called  Mary  Ellen  and  showed 
her  the  note,  and  she  sat  by  Desire  as  she  tele 
phoned.  She  couldn't  get  Roger  at  the  office; 
he  had  just  gone.  Together  they  thought.  Sud 
denly  Desire  pointed  to  the  words  in  the  note, 
"  the  districk  atterney  is  in  with  the  play." 
Desire  determined  to  get  the  secret  from  Graham 
at  all  costs.  She  called  him  up  —  it  would  never 
do  to  let  him  know  what  for  —  so  she  asked  him 
to  come  to  see  her.  .  .  .  "  No,  Roger  was  not 
there.  .  .  .  Yes,  she  was  alone."  Graham  took 
two  or  three  high  ones  to  celebrate  his  luck. 
This  was  easy! 

While  she  waited  his  coming,  Dopey  Louie 
was  getting  nearer  —  though  she  didn't  know 
about  that.  Roger  was  delayed  by  some  friends 
who  wanted  to  talk  about  the  gambling  situation 
while  the  chauffeur  fixed  a  tire.  At  last  Graham 
came.  He  began  his  advances  as  she  let  him  in, 
and  it  required  all  of  Desire's  cleverness  to 
"  stall  "  him  off.  Once  in  the  library,  she  set 
him  talking.  She  told  him  that  Roger  was  home 
very  little  —  she  had  no  idea  where  he  was. 
Then  they  laughed.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  she 
lured  him  on  with  all  the  charm  and  witchery  of 
her  being  to  talk!  To  talk  as  a  boastful  man 
will  talk  to  the  woman  he  wants  to  have  love  him. 

Through  the  French  window  that  opened  to 
the  floor  of  the  little  piazza,  peered  Louie.  He 


100          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

watched  them,  but  he  was  puzzled  —  this  man 
didn't  act  like  Louie's  idea  of  a  husband! 
Desire  had  the  astonished  butler  bring  in  cham 
pagne,  and  she  plied  Graham  with  it.  Graham 
was  talking  now  —  he  was  sure  of  her.  She  had 
come  to  sit  beside  him  upon  the  divan  and  he 
attempted  to  take  her  into  his  arms. 

"  But  my  husband!"  she  murmured.  "  If 
he  were  .  .  .  ' 

Graham  rose  and  gulped  down  a  goblet  of 
wine.  Then  coming  close  to  her,  he  said,  "  He 
needn't  bother  you!  Before  morning  he  will  be 
out  of  the  way!  ' 

Desire  controlled  herself  with  an  effort.  So 
Graham  was  in  the  plot!  She  rose  and  paced 
the  room  as  though  to  compose  herself.  As 
she  paced,  she  saw  the  evil  face  of  Louie  at  the 
window  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye.  She  did 
not  start,  but  she  did  some  quick  thinking. 
Louie  softly  opened  the  window  a  trifle,  so  that 
he  could  hear  and  determine  if  this  was  the  man. 

Desire  walked  back  to  Graham,  and  deliber 
ately,  almost  playfully,  said,  "  Why,  Eoger  Ken- 
dal!  my  dear  husband,  you  have  been  drinking 
too  much!  ' 

Her  eyes  unconsciously  sought  the  window, 
and  Graham,  puzzled  at  her  words,  looked  too, 
but  just  a  trifle  late!  Dopey  Louie  had  heard 
the  words,  and  he  fired.  And  as  he  turned  to 


The  House  Cat  101 

flee,  that  was  the  last  minute  of  personal  liberty 
he  ever  had.  The  bulky  form  of  Mary  Ellen 
Ryan  fell  upon  him,  and  she  pinned  the  slender 
little  scorpion  to  the  floor  of  the  piazza,  wrenched 
the  revolver  from  his  hand,  and  applied  the  butt 
of  it  to  his  bullet  head,  until  Dopey  Louie  lay 
still. 

In  the  library,  Graham  staggered  and  fell; 
but  his  closing  eyes  had  seen  enough  to  let  him 
know  that  he  had  been  duped  and  fooled;  and 
if  that  was  any  satisfaction  to  him,  he  was  wel 
come  to  it. 

Mary  Ellen  had  come  round  the  house  to  hear 
the  talk  between  Desire  and  Graham,  and  had 
spotted  Louie  on  the  little  piazza,  shortly  before 
he  shot,  and  she  concluded  it  was  best  to  attend 
to  him.  Of  course,  there  was  great  confusion  in 
the  house;  everybody  burst  into  the  library,  and 
then  the  butler  went  out  and  brought  in  the 
police.  Mary  Ellen  dragged  in  the  pulverized 
Louie;  and  maybe  the  aunts  weren't  right  there 
in  * '  the  disgraceful  scene !  ' ' 

In  the  midst  of  it  all,  Roger  walked  in.  There 
was  the  wreck  of  the  wine-cooler  and  the  glasses, 
and  there  was  the  dead  body  of  Graham.  The 
police  took  Louie,  who  had  partially  ^  come  to," 
and  Mary  Ellen  to  the  station  house ;  and  Roger, 
of  course,  went  with  them.  Deaf  to  her  half 
incoherent  explanations,  he  paused  long  enough 


102  Little  Stories  from,  the  Screen 

to  tell  Desire  that  she  had  disgraced  him,  his 
name,  his  home,  and  his  child,  and  that  this  was 
the  end.  He  wouldn't  listen  to  anything.  At 
the  mention  of  the  baby,  the  two  aunts  slipped 
out,  took  the  baby  from  the  nursery,  and  went 
with  it  to  their  room  and  barricaded  the  door. 

Desire  at  last  staggered  out  and  went  to  the 
nursery  —  the  baby  was  gone.  She  went  to  the 
aunts'  room,  and  was  denied  entrance,  while 
they  told  her  through  the  door  what  a  wicked 
woman  she  was.  And  at  last,  Desire  crept  down 
the  stairs  and  out  the  door,  finally  knocking  at 
the  door  of  Grandpa's  home,  where  she  was 
admitted  by  the  wondering  Hawkins,  who  kin 
dled  a  fire  for  her  in  the  old  drawing  room. 
There  she  sat,  her  head  in  her  hands,  looking 
into  the  blaze. 

At  the  police  station,  after  the  usual  prelimi 
naries,  the  battered  Louie  was  locked  up,  and 
Mary  Ellen  said  to  Eoger  that  they  must  get 
back  to  Desire. 

"  Mrs.  Kendall  "  said  Eoger,  scornfully. 
"  After  this  disgraceful  night,  there  is  no  Mrs. 
Kendal.  She  can  go  to  her  grandfather,  or  to 
the  devil,  I  don't  care  which!  " 

Then  a  great  light  broke  over  Mary  Ellen 
Eyan.  She  put  one  powerful  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  with  the  other  she  produced  Jimmy 
Eegan's  note,  which  she  had  put  into  her  bosom 


The  House  Cat  103 

at  the  telephone.  "  Are  ye  blind,  man,  that  ye 
don't  see  the  good  wife  ye  have?  Can't  ye  see 
that  she  lured  the  dead  man  who  knew  all  about 
it,  and  gave  him  drink  to  loosen  his  tongue  that 
she  might  give  ye  wamin'?  Didn't  she  tell  me 
the  plan  before  she  done  it!  " 

Roger  began  to  see  a  great  light! 

But  Mary  was  pitiless  — "  Don't  ye  under 
stand  that  it  was  you  the  murtherin'  little  Wop 
was  tryin'  to  kill,  an'  that  he  thought  he  was 
her  husband?  "  Roger  took  Mary  Ellen  into  a 
cab,  on  the  run,  and  hurried  for  home. 

The  two  aunts  heard  the  car,  and  ran  down 
stairs,  leaving  their  door  open.  "  She's  gone," 
they  said,  "  but  we  have  the  baby  safe."  And 
they  half  dragged  Roger  into  the  library  from 
which  the  body  had  been  removed.  Mary  Ellen 
lumbered  up  the  stairs  as  fast  as  her  bulk  would 
permit. 

And  while  Roger,  who  had  had  time  to  think 
things  over,  was  telling  his  astonished  aunts 
that  they  didn't  understand  at  all,  and  that  he 
was  going  to  beg  Desire  on  bended  knee  to  come 
back  to  him,  and  that  when  she  came,  it  would 
be  just  as  well  if  they  were  not  there  —  they 
were  independent  and  could  live  anywhere  — 
Mary  Ellen,  the  baby  in  her  arms,  was  well  on 
her  way  to  Desire  in  the  old  Galloway  home. 

Roger,  when  he  got  through  with  the  aunts, 


104          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

called  up  the  Galloway  house,  and  the  butler 
answered.  "  Yes,  sir,  Mrs.  Kendal  is  here, 
she  says  that  she  doesn't  wish  to  speak  with 
you,  sir.  Sorry,  sir.  Yes,  sir."  Roger  lost 
little  time  in  getting  there.  Mary  Ellen  had 
come  with  the  baby,  and  they  made  a  pretty 
group  about  the  fire  when  he  stepped  into  the 
room,  with  all  the  humility  that  a  gentleman  feels 
when  he  has  wronged  a  woman. 

There  isn't  any  more  to  tell;  except  that  Mary 
Ellen  put  Desire  and  the  baby  into  Roger's  arms, 
and  waddled  clumsily  out  and  closed  the  door 
softly  behind  her,  making  little  dabs  at  her  kind 
old  eyes  with  the  corner  of  her  apron. 


A  CALIPH  OF  THE  NEW  BAGDAD 

Produced  by  The  Vitagraph  Company  of  America. 

Featuring  LEAH  BAIRD  and  VAN  DYKE  BROOKE. 

Directed  by  Van  Dyke  Brooke. 

Very  few  people  would  have  guessed  that, 
twenty-five  years  before,  Van  Dyke  Brown  had 
been  an  actor  —  a  "  regular  "  one  —  who  played 
leads,  did  black-face,  shifted  scenes,  and  doubled 
in  the  orchestra  and  box-office.  He  was  now 
nearly  fifty,  was  five  or  ten  times  a  millionaire, 
and  a  power  in  "  The  Street. "  Erect,  energetic, 
commanding,  he  dominated  any  situation  in 
which  he  found  himself.  He  was  clothed,  haber- 
dashed,  shod,  shined,  manicured,  and  polished 
up  to  the  last  notch;  and  his  address  was  Fifth 
Avenue,  Wall  Street,  Newport,  Palm  Beach, 
London,  Paris,  and  Monte  Carlo. 

When  he  drove  home  from  a  Board  meeting 
one  day,  after  whipping  into  line  a  few  recalci 
trants  who  opposed  his  policies,  his  big  twin-six 
hit  Higgins  —  age  fifty,  who  played  juvenile 
leads,  when  he  got  the  chance  —  and  knocked 

105 


106          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

him  into  a  heap  almost  at  the  door  of  Van 
Dyke's  Fifth  Avenue  palace.  The  chauffeur  and 
Van  Dyke  picked  up  the  resilient  and  unhurt 
Higgins,  brushed  him  off,  thrust  a  roll  of  bills 
into  his  willing  hand,  took  his  name  and  address, 
and  Van  Dyke  insisted  that  he  go  home  in  the 
car. 

Higgins  lolled  back  on  the  twelve-inch  up 
holstery,  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  a  big 
cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  grandiloquently  offered 
a  tip  to  the  smiling  chauffeur  when  the  car  landed 
him  at  the  little,  run-down  rooming  house  in 
West  Fourteenth  Street.  He  told  the  other 
roomers  all  about  it  six  times;  and  La  Petite, 
who  "  done  a  refined  dancing  act,"  said  that  he 
was  "  one  lucky  guy." 

And  that  evening,  Van  Dyke  sat  at  dinner  in 
his  dining  room  with  the  "  hundred- thousand- 
dollar  ceiling,"  as  the  newspapers  called  it,  took 
out  the  paper  with  the  address  on  it  — "  345 
W.  14th  Street,"  it  read  —  and  elusive  Memory 
played  her  tricks  upon  him.  He  couldn't  quite 
figure  what  there  was  familiar  about  it. 

Mrs.  Brown  and  her  daughter  went  to  the 
opera  that  night,  and  were  to  sail  for  Europe 
in  the  morning,  and  Van  Dyke  sat  in  his  big 
library  thinking.  He  went  to  the  panel  safe 
and  took  out  an  old  lock-box  that  he  hadn't 
opened  in  years.  There  were  the  old  play-bills 


A  Caliph  of  the  New  Bagdad  107 

and  programmes;  and  as  he  looked  them  over, 
he  laughed  at  the  times  that  he  and  Canby  had 
had  together  when  they  played  the  one-night 
stands  in  the  Corn  Belt.  And  down  in  the  bot 
tom  of  the  box  was  a  packet  of  faded  letters 
addressed  to  "  Mr.  Van  Brown,  No.  345  West 
14th  St.!" 

It  all  came  back  with  a  rush.  Alice  Wynne  — 
but  he  put  the  letters  quickly  back  into  the  box 
and  locked  it,  squared  his  shoulders,  and  took 
to  pacing  the  room.  Mrs.  Brown  and  Emily 
came  it  at  twelve-thirty,  and  he  was  still  pacing. 
He  kissed  them  affectionately,  and  gave  them  a 
cheque  that  made  them  whistle  at  his  generosity, 
and  kiss  him  again.  He  saw  them  off  on  the 
steamer  next  morning;  and  on  his  way  back,  he 
told  the  chauffeur  to  drive  through  West  Four 
teenth  Street.  They  passed  "  345."  There  is 
was  —  not  changed  a  particle !  And  as  he  sat  in 
the  library,  he  said  to  himself,  "  Why  not? 
What  is  to  prevent  me  spending  a  few  days  at 
'  345  'I  Maybe  some  of  the  old  gang  are  there." 
He  made  up  his  mind  quickly  and  went,  taking 
the  lock-box. 

In  half  an  hour,  he  was  down  at  "  Louis'," 
and  had  arrayed  himself  in  some  "  actor 
clothes,"  had  bought  a  few  costumes  for  the  old 
parts,  and  a  banjo  —  he  hadn't  touched  one  in 
years.  His  white,  patrician  beard,  the  pride  of 


108          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Tony's  art  and  heart  —  lie  had  hesitated  about 
that;  but  off  it  came!  And  Van  Dyke  Brown, 
millionaire,  clubman,  and  man  of  affairs,  dick 
ered  with  the  little  old  landlady  for  the  little, 
old,  dingy  "  third-floor-back  "  at  "  345  "!  He 
got  it. 

It  was  the  same  room,  same  paper,  same  every 
thing.  There  on  the  closet  door,  he  found  his 
own  initials  linked  with  those  of  Alice  Wynne, 
"  1890  "!  The  people,  too,  seemed  just  about 
the  same  —  friendly  and  hospitable  as  ever.  And 
that  evening,  when  Mrs.  Brown  and  Emily  sat 
on  deck  in  the  steamer  chairs,  with  visions  of 
"  Poor,  dear,  lonesome  Papa  "  sitting  alone  in 
the  big  library,  Van  Dyke  sat  with  the  player 
folk  on  the  front  steps  of  "  345,"  and  chipped 
in  with  the  others  so  that  Barrett,  "  the  Heavy," 
might  take  the  big  pitcher,  and  go  over  to  "  the 
Dutchman's!  " 

Of  course,  he  met  Canby —  the  story  wouldn't 
be  any  good  unless  he  did.  Canby,  still  on  the 
stage,  always  came  back  to  "  345."  It  was 
* '  home  ' '  to  him  now,  and  it  had  many  advantages 
—  you  could  always  "  hang  up  "  the  Little  Old 
Landlady,  and  that  was  convenient  for  Canby,  at 
times.  What  a  time  he  and  Canby  had  as  they 
talked  over  old  days,  and  acted  the  old  parts! 
Uncle  Tom  and  Legree,  and  the  endmen,  Tambo 
and  Bones,  and  the  Statue  clog  with  the  whirl- 


A  Caliph  of  the  New  Bagdad  109 

wind  finish,  their  arms  on  each  other's  shoulders, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it.  The  roomers  made  Van 
Dyke's  room  their  "  hang-out;"  Barrett  and 
Mrs.  Forrest,  and  Higgins,  resplendent  in  his 
new  raiment,  the  product  of  his  "  accident,''  and 
who  didn't  recognize  Van  Dyke,  sans  beard;  and 
Alice  Lake  and  Jim  McCarthy,  who  were  always 
bracketed.  For  it  was  no  secret  that  as  soon 
as  Jim  "  made  the  riffle,"  he  and  Alice  were 
going  to  take  a  chance  in  The  Little  Church 
Around  the  Corner. 

And  when  the  big  "  growler  "  was  full  and 
the  delicatessen  was  on  the  table,  Barrett,  the 
"  Heavy,"  would  examine  his  shoes,  to  which 
there  were  no  soles  (he  wore  a  pair  of  rubbers 
that  Canby  gave  him,  all  through  the  hot 
weather)  and  tell,  gravely,  how,  "  Belasco  says 
to  me,  '  Barry,  Old  Pal,  you  simply  gotta  go 
with  me  next  season.'  And  I  says,  '  Not  for  no 
two  hundred  a  week,  Dave,'  I  says."  And  Mrs. 
Forrest,  with  a  toothbrush-mug  full  of  beer  in 
one  hand,  and  a  pig's  foot  in  the  other,  would 
say,  "  This  Bernhardt  woman  is  punk.  Why, 
once  in  Peoria  ..."  but  the  offer  of  another 
pig's  foot  usually  prevented  anybody  knowing 
what  happened  in  Peoria.  And  La  Petite 
"  could  have  went  with  Gertrude  Hoffman  last 
season,  only  she  was  scared  I  would  take  it  all 
away  from  her."  They  hadn't  changed  a  bit! 


110          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

One  morning,  Van  Dyke  and  Canby  started 
out  to  see  the  booking  agents.  Bosenbaum,  Inc., 
kept  them  waiting  over  an  hour  and  Van  Dyke 
got  hot  under  the  collar  —  he  wasn't  used  to 
waiting.  And  when  Bosenbaum  came  out  of  his 
office  with  a  fat  friend,  he  treated  them  like 
cattle.  Van  Dyke  forgot  himself  long  enough  to 
say,  "  You  insufferable  hound,  I  own  this  build 
ing,  and  I'll  put  you  out  of  it  tomorrow!  '  And 
Bosenbaum,  Inc.,  and  his  fat  friend  laughed  long 
and  loud  and  tapped  their  foreheads  as  Van 
Dyke  and  Canby  were  hustled  out. 

As  they  passed  down  Fifth  Avenue,  Van  Dyke 
absent-mindedly  stepped  up  the  steps  of  his  own 
house,  and  Canby  really  did  think  he  was  crazy. 
11  What's  the  matter  with  you  today;  do  you 
think  you  own  that  building  too?  "  Van  Dyke 
tried  to  laugh  it  off,  but  at  the  next  corner 
Canby  left  him,  with  some  apprehension  in  his 
manner. 

Alice,  feeling  sorry  for  him,  slipped  him  half 
a  dollar,  when  he  came  to  the  steps,  rather  tired, 
and  said  he  was  hungry.  Van  Dyke  took  it  and 
put  it  in  an  inner  compartment  of  his  wallet,  for 
he  wanted  to  keep  it,  and  as  he  had  just  changed 
a  thousand  dollar  bill,  he  had  some  change  in  his 
pocket  and  it  might  get  mixed! 

Van  had  grown  very  fond  of  Alice  Lake.  The 
very  first  day  that  he  came  to  "  345, "  as  he  was 


A  Caliph  of  the  New  Bagdad  111 

getting  settled  in  his  room,  he  heard  her  singing 
at  the  piano  in  her  room  on  the  floor  below. 
Van  listened  as  long  as  she  sang;  and  after  a 
while,  he  asked  that  he  might  come  in  and  listen. 
On  the  table  in  Alice's  room  was  a  picture;  Van 
started  when  he  saw  it,  and  sat  looking  at  it  for 
a  long  time.  "  That  is  my  mother's  picture, " 
she  said.  "  Her  stage  name  was  Alice  Wynne, 
and  she  used  to  live  in  this  very  room  ever  so 
many  years  ago!  "  Well  Van  knew  it!  And 
after  the  songs  were  over,  he  went  back  to  his 
room  and  was  tempted  to  get  out  the  old  letters 
addressed  to  "  Van  Brown,  345  W.  14th  St.," 
though  finally  he  shook  his  head;  but  he  did  go 
to  the  door  and  look  again  at  the  initials  — 
VBAW  —  enclosed  in  a  heart.  He  thought  he 
might  conscientiously  pay  that  much  homage  to 
auld  lang  syne. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  those  at  "  345  "  when 
Van  decided  to  pay  them  a  visit.  Came  a  time 
when  the  landlord  wouldn't  wait  any  longer  for 
the  rent,  and  the  tearful,  little  old  lady  held  a 
conference  with  the  roomers  in  Alice  Lake's 
room  —  a  sort  of  family  conference  —  she  had 
to  have  seventy-five  dollars  next  day !  Van  heard 
the  "  bad  news  "  from  the  hall  above. 

He  wasn't  taken  into  the  conference;  in  the 
first  place,  he  was  a  new  member,  and  after 
hearing  Canby  tell  of  the  occurrence  at  Rosen- 


112          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

baum's  and  on  The  Avenue,  they  figured  he  was 
"  a  little  off." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Canby,  "you  oughta  seen 
him!  He  swelled  up  like  a  poisoned  pup  at 
Eosenbaum,  an'  he  says,  '  I  own  this  buildin' 
an'  I'll  have  you  thrown  out!  '  he  says;  an'  I 
gets  him  out  as  quick  as  I  can.  An'  comin' 
down  The  Avenue,  he  lopes  right  into  a  million 
dollar  dump,  about  the  size  of  The  Waldorf, 
that  mebbe  belongs  to  Ping  Pong  Morgan  or 
Abraham  Carnegie,  or  one  o'  them  kind  o' 
people.  An'  I  says,  '  Say,  do  you  think  you  own 
that  buildin',  too?  '  I  says;  an'  at  the  next  cor 
ner,  I  blows,  not  wantin'  no  ride  in  the  hurry-up 
wagon.  Wheels  in  his  bean,  sure!  An'  he's  a 
right  guy,  too.  I  wisht  he  did  have  money!  ' 
Barrett  reached  out  and  picked  up  the  can  and 
finished  it  contemplatively,  much  to  the  indig 
nation  of  La  Petite,  who  was  about  to  reach  for 
it  also. 

"  '  Eight  guy  '  is  right,"  she  said,  looking 
meaningly  at  Barrett.  "  There's  a  lot  of  gazooks 
in  this  camp  that  could  be  learnt  manners  by 
him!  Where  do  you  get  off  to  inhale  all  them 
suds,  anyway?  I  was  invited  here  to  breakfast, 
not  you!  ' 

The  conference  was  futile  —  nobody  had  a  cent. 
It  was  suggested  that  a  fund  could  be  raised  if 
Higgins  would  pawn  his  new  "  scenery;"  but 


A  Caliph  of  the  New  Bagdad  113 

this  proposition  was  not  acceptable  to  Higgins. 

La  Petite  was  disgusted.  "  Say!  "  she  said, 
with  fine  scorn,  "  don't  youse  hams  know  that 
if  Mis'  Lucre tia  ain't  there  with  that  piece  or 
change  by  tomorrow,  you  all  ain't  got  no  more 
home  than  a  rabbit?  You  big  four-flushes  better 
quit  stallin'  and  get  busy!  Go  out  an'  break  a 
jewelry  window,  or  some  thin'.  It's  comin'  to  her 
an'  we  gotta  get  it!  I'm  goin'  out  an'  dig  — 
somehow!  " 

That  evening,  the  little  landlady  got  a  special 
delivery,  and  in  it  was  a  receipt  for  the  arrears 
and  six  months  in  advance.  No  one  knew  any 
thing  about  it,  and  the  landlord  refused  to  talk 
of  it  at  all  —  "  It's  paid,  ain't  it?  Well " 

"  Say!  "  said  La  Petite,  looking  at  Barrett 
pityingly.  "  You're  the  wise  fish  that  don't  fall 
for  that  miracle  stuff,  hey?  Never  nuthin'  hap 
pened  like  when  them  cravens  handed  out  manna 
to  this  here  —  now  —  Whoozis,  when  he  was  gonna 
croak  from  starvin'  in  the  woods,  or  someplace? 
Back  up!  Nuthin'  but  a  miracle  could  pull  off  a 
stunt  like  this  in  New  York,  an'  on  Fourteenth 
Street,  too!  Me  for  Billy  Sunday,  after  this!  " 

Mr.  Archibald  Rivers,  millionaire,  clubman, 
etc.,  etc.,  came  to  Eosenbaum,  Inc.,  to  secure  tal 
ent  for  his  wife's  musicale.  Alice  Lake  was  just 
leaving,  disappointed.  Rivers  got  one  good  peek 
at  her,  and  had  Rosenbaum  call  her  back  — 


114  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Elvers  was  some  little  "  chooser  "  himself.  He 
had  Eosenbaum  engage  her  to  sing  at  the 
musicale,  and  insisted  that  she  get  fifty  dollars; 
as  Eosenbaum  got  a  percentage,  he  was  willing 
to  have  her  get  a  thousand. 

Then  Eivers  put  up  a  job  with  Eosenbaum, 
Inc.  —  '  '  I  want  to  string  this  chicken  along  and 
make  her  think  I'm  going  to  back  her  in  a 
musical  comedy  —  you  know,  the  old  stuff.  You 
feed  that  to  her,  and  I'll  see  that  you  get  yours." 

So  Eosenbaum  "  fed  "  her  "  that  stuff,"  and 
Alice  was  in  the  seventh  heaven.  Jimmy  Mc 
Carthy  was  correspondingly  depressed.  Thus 
it  became  necessary  that  Eivers  called  frequently 
at  "  345  '  to  see  Alice  about  arrangements. 
"  As  soon  as  Mr.  Eosenbaum  finds  a  suitable 
play-  -" 

Van  saw  Eivers  one  evening  as  he  passed 
through  the  hall,  and  knew  him  for  the  scoun 
drel  he  was.  Eivers  had  just  invited  Alice  "  to 
come  up  to  Victor's  to  get  a  bite  of  something, 
and  see  Mr.  Eosenbaum,  who  might  be  there." 
Van  stepped  to  the  telephone  in  the  hall,  and 
called  up  the  number  of  Eivers 's  house.  Hearing 
the  number,  Eivers  came  into  the  hall,  and  did 
not  recognize  Van. 

"  That's  my  house  you're  calling,"  said 
Eivers. 

"  Yes,"  said  Van,  "  I  thought  your  wife  might 


A  Caliph  of  the  New  Bagdad  115 

like  to  make  the  game  at  Victor's  three-handed." 
Eivers  took  another  look  at  Van,  and  putting  on 
his  hat  and  coat,  went  away  from  there. 

It  is  highly  probable  that  Jimmy  McCarthy 
consoled  Alice  for  the  loss  of  her  "  chance  "  in 
musical  comedy,  for  the  next  day  they  told  Van 
that  they  had  concluded  not  to  wait  any  longer 
in  the  matter  of  The  Little  Church  Around  the 
Corner.  Van  was  glad  to  hear  it,  and  he  gave 
Alice  a  cheque  for  a  thousand  dollars  to  start 
the  flat  with.  Then  he  gave  her  a  fatherly  kiss, 
and  said  he  would  arrange  a  little  supper  for 
them  in  his  rooms  that  evening,  and  went  up  the 
stairs.  Jimmy  took  the  cheque  from  Alice  gently, 
and  shook  his  head  sadly,  as  he  tore  it  in  pieces. 
"  Poor,  kindly  old  chap!  He  thinks  he's  rich!  ' 
And  he  threw  the  pieces  into  the  wastebasket. 

Van  got  all  the  others  together  and  invited 
them  to  the  supper  — ' '  he  thought  he  knew  of 
a  confiding  little  restaurant  that  he  could  *  hang 
up ; '  "  and  after  he  had  gone,  Barrett  and  Canby 
tapped  their  foreheads  and  said,  "  To  bad!  Too 
bad!  "  And  when  the  little  landlady  got  a 
message  from  Van,  saying  that  "  it  would  be 
impossible  for  him  to  be  at  the  dinner  and  hoped 
they'd  excuse  him  and  enjoy  themselves,"  they 
laughed  all  the  harder,  and  said,  '  '  I  told  you  so ! 
Nobody  home!  " 

But  even  at  that  moment,  the  decorator  and 


116          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

the  florist  and  the  cooks  and  the  waiters  and  the 
champagne  and  the  rest  of  the  things  began  to 
arrive,  and  the  "  knockers  "  couldn't  account  for 
it  at  all.  Van  had  gone  to  Sherry's  and  told  an 
obsequious  manager  "  to  go  as  far  as  he  liked," 
and  send  the  bill  to  him. 

What  a  feast  they  had!  Van's  old  room 
was  transformed.  When  the  bride  and  groom 
came,  they  toasted  them,  and  they  toasted 
themselves,  and  their  Art,  and  many  other 
things  that  needed  it.  Finally  La  Petite 
suggested  that  they  hadn't  toasted  Van. 
They  did  it  — twice.  "  Say!  "  said  La  Petite, 
looking  witheringly  at  Barrett,  who  was 
using  a  nut-cracker  to  open  a  stuffed  olive,  "  I 
guess  you  wisenheimers  had  this  bird's  number 
—  not!  You  couldn't  pick  a  live  one  in  Pitts 
burgh!  If  this  here  Van  is  crazy  in  the  head, 
I'm  sorry  I'm  sane!  An'  if  you  simps  think 
he  don't  own  that  shack  on  The  Avenue,  you 
can  win  a  bet  from  me.  Why,  a  blind  man  can 
see  that  he's  the  goods!  I  guess  this  little 
repast  come  from  Child's,  hey?  If  he  ain't  a 
honest-to-Gawd  millionaire,  then  I'm  Hetty 
Green.  An'  I  guess  now  it  ain't  so  much  to  the 
Sherlock  Holmes  who  come  across  with  the 
money  for  the  rent  that  time!  ' 

A  great  light  was  beginning  to  break  over 
Jimmy  McCarthy.  He  tore  madly  out  of  the 


A  Caliph  of  the  New  Bagdad  117 

room  and  pawed  over  the  contents  of  a  waste- 
basket  frantically.  When  he  got  the  pieces  of 
the  cheque  pasted  together,  he  showed  it  to  them. 
Then  they  toasted  Van  again. 

And  at  that  particular  moment,  Van  was 
standing  at  the  rail  of  an  out-going  liner,  holding 
a  worn  half-dollar  in  his  hand.  And  as  he 
looked  at  the  fast  receding  sky-line  of  The  Big 
Town,  he  smiled. 


FLEUE  DE  LYS 

Produced  under  title, 
"Celeste,  of  The  Ambulance  Corps." 

Produced  by  The  Edison  Company. 

Featuring  SHIRLEY  MASON. 

Directed  by  Burton  George. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  Celeste  opened  her 
eyes  and  looked  around  the  luxurious  room. 
Yes,  it  wasn't  a  dream  —  there  were  the  flowers 
and  the  other  things  that  proved  it,  and  she 
closed  her  eyes  again  to  review  the  events  of 
the  coming-out  party  of  the  night  before  —  the 
dances  and  the  men  and  the  gaiety  of  it  all. 
The  maid  came  in  and  pulled  aside  the  heavy 
hangings  from  the  windows:  Isabel  and  Estelle 
and  Fanchette  burst  in  and  sat,  as  the  maid 
combed  her  hair,  telling  her  how  jolly  the  affair 
had  been,  and  the  million  other  things  that  girls 
talk  about  after  a  party. 

Then  there  was  breakfast  with  Grandpere. 
She  took  his  newspapers  away  from  him  and 

118 


Edison 


Shirley  Mason  and  Charles  Sutton  in  "Celeste  of  the  Ambulance  Corps9 


Fleur  de  Lys  119 

dragged  him  out  of  his  chair  to  make  him  dance 
with  her,  until  he  surrendered  unconditionally 
and  begged  for  mercy. 

Then  there  was  the  ride  to  the  matinee  in  the 
big  car;  Harold  and  Percy  and  Reggie  met  them 
and  rode  home  in  the  car  with  her,  which  was 
held  up  by  a  lot  of  people  who  were  watching  a 
bulletin-board  with  "  WAR  "  in  big  letters 
upon  it. 

"  Deuced  bore,  this  war  business, "  said 
Harold.  "  You  girls  cawn't  get  your  Paris 
gowns  this  season,  y'  know." 

She  found  Grandpere  in  the  big  library,  very 
solemn  over  his  newspaper  —  Grandpere  had 
been  through  the  war  of  '70,  and  knew.  She 
took  his  cane  and  played  soldier  before  him  — 
but  he  wasn't  to  be  amused.  And  she,  who  had 
always  lived  in  the  Land  of  Never-a-Care, 
couldn't  understand  it,  quite. 

Then  three  of  Grandpere 's  old  friends  came  in 
for  dinner,  and  they  were  very  troubled,  too  — 
one  of  them  had  but  one  arm,  the  other  he  had 
left  somewhere  near  Metz,  in  '70.  And  another 
had  sightless  eyes  —  from  a  shell  explosion  in 
the  same  war.  They  sat  at  dinner,  and  the  four 
grizzled  veterans  told  of  that  awful  year  —  '70, 
while  she  listened  with  widening  eyes.  Grand 
pere  told  how  he  lay  upon  the  field  and  of  how 
a  woman,  a  nurse,  had  come  and  ministered  to 


120          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

him,  and  how  she  had  saved  his  life.  "  Ah," 
said  Grandpere,  "  there  were  women  in  those 
days!  '  And  as  he  sighed  and  shook  his  white 
head,  the  four  men  rose  and  drank  a  standing 
toast  to  the  women  of  yesteryear,  forgetting 
all  about  little  "  Never-a-Care. " 

But  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she 
thought  how  little  she  was,  and  how  useless  in 
her  "  Never-a-Care  "  world,  when  there  were 
big  things  to  do  all  about  her.  She  slipped  out 
and  went  to  her  room  and  fell  on  the  bed  in  a 
torrent  of  weeping.  Then  she  sat  up.  She  tore 
up  the  flowers  and  the  dance-orders  and  stamped 
on  them;  and  she  threw  the  hateful  box  of  bon 
bons  into  the  corner. 

The  four  old  veterans  were  still  in  the  library 
telling  of  the  horrors  of  '70,  when  she  walked 
in  and  told  them  that  she  was  going  to  Europe  to 
join  the  Red  Cross,  that  she  would  show  them 
that  there  were  women  today! 

There  was  an  awful  fuss  from  Grandpere. 
"  Nona  de  Dieu,"  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of; 
and  the  others  were  astonished  and  incredulous; 
but  she  was  deaf  to  protest  and  entreaty.  And 
the  three  veterans  left,  with  Grandpere  sitting 
with  his  white  head  bowed  upon  his  breast,  and 
"  Never-a-Care  "  at  his  feet,  tearful,  but  reso 
lute. 

They  made   a  pet   of  her   in  the   field  —  the 


Fleur  de  Lys  121 

great,  bearded,  muddy  soldiers.  And  she  did 
her  duty  well.  One  young  officer,  Captain  Hay- 
ward,  swore  to  ihat,  after  she  had  bound  up  a 
trivial  wound  in  his  arm  while  he  looked  into 
her  face.  He  had  to  have  her  attend  to  it  very 
often  —  though  he  never  paid  any  attention  to 
it  when  he  was  with  his  fellows. 

And  then,  at  night,  while  the  grim  soldiers 
smoked  their  pipes  in  the  glow  of  the  camp- 
fires,  she  sang  to  them  —  "  It's  a  long,  long  way 
to  Tipperary."  Maybe  the  tears  didn't  roll 
down  their  cheeks  as  they  cheered! 

As  the  days  went  by,  Hayward  and  Celeste 
wound  closer  and  closer  about  themselves  that 
impalpable  bond  that  binds  lovers,  until  they 
knew.  Then  came  the  crash  of  arms  and  the 
bursting  of  shells.  They  brought  in  the 
wounded,  and  she  ministered  to  them.  She 
looked  for  Hayward,  but  he  did  not  come.  The 
colonel  only  shook  his  head  and  turned  away 
when  she  asked  about  him.  At  night,  she  crept 
across  the  field  among  the  dead.  Shells  burst 
around  her  at  intervals. 

She  found  him  by  the  trenches,  and  he  knew 
her.  She  knelt  beside  him,  and  his  head  was 
upon  her  bosom  as  he  crossed  over.  She  kissed 
his  cold  lips,  and  laid  his  head  gently  down. 
She  rose,  the  frenzy  of  the  bereaved  tigress 
in  her  eyes  —  little  ' '  Never-a-Care !  ' '  She 


122          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

stripped  the  Red  Cross  from  her  arm  and  the 
nurse's  mantle  from  her  breast.  She  took  his 
sword  and  faced  —  GERMANY !  And  then  the 
heavens  were  split  apart;  and  when  the  smoke 
and  dust  had  cleared  away,  little  "  Never-a- 
Care  "  lay  across  the  body  of  Hayward,  the 
sword  in  her  hand. 


THE  HOUSE  NEXT  DOOR 

Produced  under  title, 
"The  Professor's  Romance." 

Produced  by  The  Vitagraph  Company  of  America. 

Featuring  SIDNEY  DREW. 

Directed  by  Sidney  Drew. 

For  more  than  ten  years,  the  housekeeper  had 
opened  the  library  door  at  exactly  thirty  minutes 
past  six,  and  announced  that  supper  was  ready. 
And  the  Professor  would  close  the  volume  — 
Humboldt's  Cosmos  or  Kant's  Critique  of  Pure 
Reason  —  put  the  book  carefully  back  in  its 
place,  pocket  his  glasses,  and  follow  her  into 
the  little  dining  room  for  his  toast  and  tea 
and  canned  peaches.  The  serenity  of  his  bache 
lor  household  and  its  clock-like  regularity  had 
been  undisturbed  for  years.  About  his  only 
callers  were  the  male  members  of  The  Society 
for  Ethical  Research,  who  came  to  sit  at  the 
feet  of  this  Gamaliel,  and  drink  in  the  words 
that  fell  from  his  lips. 

The  Professor  was  "  gun-shy  "  when  it  came 

123 


124          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

to  the  ladies.  No  romance  had  ever  rippled  the 
calm  of  his  methodical  life;  there  was  nothing 
about  dimples  or  star-eyes  or  ringlets  in  any  of 
the  text-books  he  had  either  written  or  read,  and 
a  picture  of  a  heart  looked  to  him  like  a  conic 
plane,  attenuated  at  the  apex,  and  with  a  curvi 
linear  indented  base.  His  interest  in  Venus  was 
confined  to  the  theories  in  regard  to  the  missing 
arms  of  the  Milo  variety,  and  the  way  to  differ 
entiate  the  Fourth  Avenue  antiques  from  the 
ones  Schliemann  dug  up  at  the  Campanile  or  the 
Acropolis  —  or  somewhere.  He  could  translate 
the  heiroglyphs  on  the  sarcophagus  of  Cleopatra, 
and  tell  you  how  she  was  mummified  differently 
from  Ptolemy  II.,  and  that  let  him  out  about  the 
lady.  All  of  which  is  pertinent  to  this  story. 

The  house  next  door  had  a  new  tenant.  Louise 
had  taken  it  for  the  summer,  and  had  arrived 
with  Bill,  and  Elizabeth,  and  a  dog  and  a  nurse; 
and  forthwith  the  serenity  of  the  Professor 
departed.  A  low  fence  separated  the  two  cot 
tages;  but  no  fence  was  ever  built  that  would 
keep  out  Bill  and  Elizabeth  when  they  had  once 
made  up  their  minds  to  get  on  the  other  side. 
They  soon  had  a  picket  pried  loose,  and  went 
in  and  out  as  they  listed. 

Any  dignified  man  who  wears  an  out-of-date 
silk  hat  and  a  very  long  frock  coat  is  a  natural 
mark  and  a  perpetual  temptation  to  children  like 


The  House  Next  Door  125 

that  pair.  They  broke  his  windows  and  dispersed 
the  meetings  for  the  furtherance  of  Ethical 
Eesearch.  They  ran  the  gamut  of  annoyance, 
until  his  deductions  became  faulty  and  his  con 
clusions  illogical  —  it  is  difficult  to  reason  accu 
rately  when  in  fear  of  a  half -brick  or  the  water 
from  a  garden  hose.  He  had  to  listen  to  the 
piano  as  played  by  Louise,  and  it  drove  him  to 
shut  the  windows  and  put  on  ear-muffs. 

And  as  he  walked  one  day  in  the  cool  of  the 
afternoon,  beneath  his  own  vine  and  fig  tree, 
reading  something  light  in  the  original  Sanskrit, 
by  way  of  recreation,  a  deluge  of  water  from 
the  hose  overwhelmed  him.  As  soon  as  he  could 
gather  his  dripping  senses  and  his  glasses,  he 
grabbed  the  pair  and  hustled  them  to  their 
mother ;  and  —  fie  upon  her  —  when  she  saw  him 
she  laughed! 

Now,  when  Louise  laughed,  anybody  else 
laughed  too,  and  that  is  exactly  what  the  Pro 
fessor  did.  Louise  took  him  into  the  drawing 
room  and  spread  a  mackintosh  over  a  chair  and 
sat  him  on  it,  and  made  him  drink  some  whiskey, 
after  he  had  made  a  forcible  but  ineffectual 
protest.  She  spoke  sadly  of  the  children,  and 
making  little  dabs  at  her  eyes  with  a  lace  hand 
kerchief,  told  him  that  they  needed  the  firm 
hand  of  a  father. 

The  Professor  thought  so  too,  but  said  it  was 


The  House  Next  Door  125 

that  pair.  They  broke  his  windows  and  dispersed 
the  meetings  for  the  furtherance  of  Ethical 
Besearch.  They  ran  the  gamut  of  annoyance, 
until  his  deductions  became  faulty  and  his  con 
clusions  illogical  —  it  is  difficult  to  reason  accu 
rately  when  in  fear  of  a  half -brick  or  the  water 
from  a  garden  hose.  He  had  to  listen  to  the 
piano  as  played  by  Louise,  and  it  drove  him  to 
shut  the  windows  and  put  on  ear-muffs. 

And  as  he  walked  one  day  in  the  cool  of  the 
afternoon,  beneath  his  own  vine  and  fig  tree, 
reading  something  light  in  the  original  Sanskrit, 
by  way  of  recreation,  a  deluge  of  water  from 
the  hose  overwhelmed  him.  As  soon  as  he  could 
gather  his  dripping  senses  and  his  glasses,  he 
grabbed  the  pair  and  hustled  them  to  their 
mother;  and  —  fie  upon  her  —  when  she  saw  him 
she  laughed! 

Now,  when  Louise  laughed,  anybody  else 
laughed  too,  and  that  is  exactly  what  the  Pro 
fessor  did.  Louise  took  him  into  the  drawing 
room  and  spread  a  mackintosh  over  a  chair  and 
sat  him  on  it,  and  made  him  drink  some  whiskey, 
after  he  had  made  a  forcible  but  ineffectual 
protest.  She  spoke  sadly  of  the  children,  and 
making  little  dabs  at  her  eyes  with  a  lace  hand 
kerchief,  told  him  that  they  needed  the  firm 
hand  of  a  father. 

The  Professor  thought  so  too,  but  said  it  was 


126          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

a  mere  nothing  and  didn't  matter  in  the  least. 
And  that  evening,  as  he  sat  with  his  feet  in  a 
mustard  bath,  with  a  blanket  wrapped  around  the 
rest  of  him,  the  telephone  rang  —  it  was  Louise 
inquiring  if  he  had  taken  cold  —  and  he  told  her, 
catarrhally,  "  Do,  dot  a  bit.  I  have  dot  suffered 
ady  idcodvediedce  ' '  —  and  went  back  and  put 
his  feet  in  the  mustard  bath,  and  smiled! 

And  a  few  evenings  later,  after  he  had 
arranged  his  hair  for  the  eleventh  time,  he  went 
out  and  talked  to  Louise  over  the  fence  for  a 
few  moments.  When  she  went  in,  he  saw  that 
the  moon  was  beautiful.  He  had  always  thought 
of  it  before  as  a  cold  satellite  of  the  earth,  with 
out  atmosphere,  and  the  radius  of  whose  orbit 
was  240,000  miles. 

He  sat  in  the  library,  and  the  music  from  the 
piano  came  tinkling  through  the  window;  old 
Mary,  the  housekeeper,  brought  the  ear-muffs 
and  shut  the  windows.  But  he  discarded  the  ear- 
muffs  as  soon  as  she  had  gone,  and  softly  opened 
all  the  windows,  and  sat  with  clasped  hands,  beat 
ing  time  with  his  foot. 

As  he  glanced  through  the  window  the  next 
day,  he  saw  a  man,  dressed  in  the  height  of 
fashion,  enter  Louise's  gate  and  ring  her  bell. 
For  the  first  time  in  many  years,  he  realized 
that  his  clothes  were  not  exactly  in  style. 
A  visit  to  the  tailor  and  the  hatter  and  the 


The  House  Next  Door  127 

haberdasher  and  the  boot-maker  soon  fixed 
that,  and  arrayed  like  Sullivan  in  all  his  glory, 
he  emerged  from  the  chrysalis  of  his  sombre 
vesture,  and  almost  scared  old  Mary  to  death 
when  she  saw  him. 

He  called  on  Louise,  and  the  kids  "  didn't  do 
a  thing  to  him."  And  Louise  told  him  that  they 
needed  the  firm  hand  of  a  father.  He  offered 
to  assist  her  in  any  way  that  he  could  —  and 
Louise  sighed,  wistfully.  He  bought  an  author 
ity  on  the  bringing  up  and  control  of  children, 
by  Miss  S.  P.  Inster;  and  when  "mother's 
angels  "  did  something  particularly  outrageous, 
he  consulted  the  book  —  and  always  found  that 
"  Children  should  never  be  spanked." 

But  after  they  had  stolen  his  outing  flannels 
and  Mary's  best  dress  from  the  line  for  a  dress 
parade,  and  had  pulled  the  plug  out  of  the  boat 
in  which  he  took  Louise  boating,  compelling  them 
to  wade  ashore,  and  had  done  other  ingeniously 
devilish  things,  he  told  Louise  that  "  he  was 
inclined  to  doubt  the  accuracy  of  the  dogma  as 
laid  down  in  Miss  S.  P.  Inster 's  book."  And 
Louise  said,  "  They  need  the  firm  hand  of  a 
father."  He  placidly  admitted  that  that  was 
so,  and  again  Louise  sighed. 

But  even  the  most  bashful  of  men  comes  to 
taw  at  last.  He  sat  with  Louise  on  the  sofa 
in  her  drawing  room,  and  had  laid  his  hand  on 


128          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

his  heart,  and  had  swallowed  hard  several  times, 
when  the  awful  knowledge  was  borne  in  upon 
him  that  somebody  was  under  the  sofa  —  and  he 
dragged  out  Elizabeth  and  Bill.  He  started  to 
consult  the  book  —  but  closed  it,  and  taking  Bill 
across  his  knee,  spanked  him  with  it  heartily. 
Bill  finally  wriggled  out  of  his  grasp,  and  he 
and  Elizabeth  were  sent  to  bed.  Louise  told 
him  that  "  The  children  needed  the  firm  hand 
of  a  father  ' '  —  and  after  thinking  a  moment, 
he  held  up  his  good  right  hand  and  asked  her  if 
she  thought  it  would  do.  She  fell  on  his  neck  — 
being  taken  so  by  surprise! 

Together  they  went  later,  to  the  nursery. 
There  lay  Elizabeth  and  Bill,  tucked  safe  in 
their  little  beds,  their  sweet,  gentle,  child-faces 
dewy  with  the  beauty  sleep.  Tenderly  Louise 
kissed  them,  and  the  Professor,  smiling,  followed 
suit.  He  put  his  arm  around  Louise,  and  they 
softly  went  out.  Then  Bill  and  Elizabeth  sat 
up  in  bed  and  winked  at  each  other. 


THE  MAKING-OVER  OF  GEOFFREY 
MANNING 

Produced  by  The  Vitagraph  Company  of  America. 

Featuring  HARRY  MOREY. 
Directed  by  Harry  Davenport. 

A  pussy-footed  Jap  glided  noiselessly  into  the 
darkened  bedroom,  and  cautiously  pulled  aside 
the  silken  hangings  from  the  window,  admitting 
the  light.  Geoffrey  rolled  over  and  yawned  and 
opened  his  eyes.  The  little  clock  pointed  at 
ten-thirty.  He  signed  to  the  Jap  to  prepare  his 
bath,  and  sat  up  aimlessly. 

Of  splendid  physique  and  brilliant  mind  and 
innate  refinement;  of  unquestioned  social  posi 
tion  and  colossal  fortune,  the  man  had  idled 
away  his  thirty-five  years  in  the  languid  pursuit 
of  ease  and  pleasure  along  the  path  of  least 
resistance,  wherein  tread  so  many  of  his  kind. 
Relieved  of  any  necessity  for  work,  or  of  any 
thought  for  the  morrow,  he  had  given  his  tastes 
full  and  free  rein  —  books,  art,  travel  —  seldom 

129 


130          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

dissipation  —  and  had  come,  as  is  inevitable 
with  such  men,  to  regard  himself  as  a  trifle  more 
than  common  clay,  and  scarcely  subject  to  the 
limitations  which  circumscribe  the  "  average 


man." 


One  morning  he  sat  in  his  big  six-cylinder, 
which  he  had  stopped  at  the  mill  to  drop  Comp- 
ton,  his  father's  secretary  (he  had  never  been 
inside  the  mill  himself),  and  witnessed  a  remark 
able  demonstration  by  his  father's  employees 
who  felt  that  their  rights  had  been  violated  by 
some  cut  in  wages  or  increase  in  hours,  and 
coolly  asked  Compton  why  he  didn't  have  them 
shot.  It  was  difficult  for  him  to  understand 
that  these  men  had  any  rights  which  should  be 
allowed  to  interfere  with  him  in  any  way.  Comp 
ton  told  him  some  plain  truths,  that  not  only 
surprised  him,  but  made  him  feel  decidedly 
uncomfortable. 

That  afternoon  at  the  club,  he  got  a  second 
jolt.  In  a  discussion  of  social  conditions  around 
a  table  in  the  grill  room,  a  young  "  uplifter  " 
told  him  that  he,  Geoffrey  Manning,  was  of  no 
real  account  in  the  world,  and  that  he  could  not, 
stripped  of  the  prestige  of  his  name  and  money, 
and  with  nothing  but  his  brain  and  his  hands, 
accomplish  anything  worthy  of  note.  Geoffrey 
thought  the  man  talked  like  a  fool,  and  told  him 
so ;  but  the  iron  had  entered  his  soul.  The  idea 


Making  Over  of  Geoffrey  Manning        131 

that  he,  Geoffrey  Manning,  should  be  thought 
the  inferior  of  any  man,  in  any  way! 

He  dined  that  evening  with  his  father,  one  of 
the  iron  and  coal  barons  —  a  gruff  old  wheel- 
horse  who  had  long  since  given  up  all  idea  that 
Geoffrey  would  succeed  him  except  as  the  legatee 
of  his  holdings  —  and  Geoffrey,  venturing  an 
opinion  on  some  industrial  problem,  was  made 
to  feel  that  the  opinion  of  a  bystander  in  the 
world's  affairs  wasn't  worth  three  hoots  in 
any  place.  Jar  number  three  —  all  in  one  day! 

Now,  Geoffrey  was  by  no  means  a  fool,  and 
his  family  had  no  branch  that  was  weak  or 
without  pride;  and  he  began  to  wonder  if  these 
people  were  right,  and  whether  he  did,  after  all, 
measure  up  to  the  stature  of  a  man.  There  was 
one  way  to  find  out  —  to  put  himself  to  the  test! 
And  Geoffrey  thought  a  long  time  that  night; 
and  the  longer  he  thought,  the  firmer  his  jaw 
set;  and  when  the  pussy-footed  Jap  came  in  the 
next  morning,  he  found  the  bed  untouched  and 
his  master  gone;  and  he  shuffled  out  again  sol 
emnly,  as  is  the  way  of  well-trained  Japs. 

Geoffrey  took  one  man  into  his  confidence  — 
old  Mr.  Mathews,  his  father's  attorney,  and 
arranged  that  if  he  communicated  with  him, 
Mathews  was  to  follow  out  instructions  to  the 
letter.  He  told  his  father  he  was  going  to  shoot 
elephants  in  Africa,  or  something;  but  the  old 


132          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

man  didn't  care  whether  he  shot  elephants  in 
Africa  or  craps  in  Mobile,  being  busily  engaged, 
just  then,  in  sand-bagging  a  rival  concern  that 
had  the  temerity  to  enter  into  competition  with 
him. 

He  wrote  Margaret  Maxwell,  to  whom  it  had 
been  tacitly  understood  he  would  be  married 
some  day,  that  he  was  going  away  indefinitely. 
Margaret  was  of  his  own  emotionless  class.  She 
shrugged  her  aristocratic  shoulders;  "  she  could 
wait,  or,  if  anyone  else  came  along,  whose  rating 
was  good  at  Bradstreet's,  she  would  take  him." 
There  was  no  nonsense  about  Margaret, 

So  Geoffrey  disappeared  completely  —  the 
ways  are  many  and  easy  —  and  in  twenty-four 
hours,  he  faced  the  world  in  a  flannel  shirt  and 
a  cheap  suit  of  clothes,  with  a  five  dollar  bill 
in  his  pocket!  He  stood  on  a  corner  in  a  part 
of  the  town  he  didn't  remember  having  seen 
before,  and  wondered  what  to  do  first.  He 
watched  the  heterogeneous  tide  pass  him,  and  he 
wondered  what  they  all  did.  He  bought  a  couple 
of  papers  and  went  into  the  little  park  to  read 
the  "  want  ads."  He  found  the  benches  filled 
with  derelicts  and  others,  and  he  rather  resented 
it  that  someone  did  not  get  up  and  give  him  a 
seat.  He  found  one  at  last,  and  he  searched 
the  columns,  tearing  out  several  that  he  thought 
looked  promising,  and  throwing  the  torn  papers 


Making  Over  of  Geoffrey  Manning       133 

on  to  the  walk.  A  big  policeman  came  and  told 
him  to  pick  them  up  and  put  them  into  the 
refuse  can.  After  some  hesitation,  he  did  as  he 
was  told. 

The  afternoon  was  getting  on;  one  must  have 
a  base  of  operations;  he  would  find  a  comfort 
able  room  and  start  out  in  the  morning.  He 
walked  leisurely  through  the  streets  that  have 
"  E  "  in  front  of  them,  looking  for  a  suitable 
place  among  the  many  dubious  houses  that  bore 
the  little  card  —  "  Furnished  Booms." 

As  he  mounted  the  steps  of  one  that  seemed 
a  little  less  run-do  wn-at-the-heels  than  the  others, 
a  girl  carrying  a  music-roll  ran  past  him,  and 
taking  a  latch-key  from  her  purse,  opened  the 
door,  and  turned  to  him  inquiringly.  He  asked 
for  the  landlady,  and  the  girl  called  her,  and 
then  ran  up  the  stairs.  He  hesitated  between 
a  coffin-like  hall-bedroom,  at  a  dollar-fifty  a  week, 
and  a  square  room,  at  three  dollars;  and  though 
the  three  would  put  quite  a  dent  in  his  five  dol 
lars,  he  couldn't  altogether  overcome  the  habit  of 
years,  so  he  paid  the  three  for  the  comparative 
luxury.  As  he  sat  in  his  room,  he  felt  for  the 
first  time  in  years,  the  joy  of  responsibility  that 
a  man  of  strong  mind  and  body  feels  when  put 
upon  his  own  resources;  and  he  slept  well,  after 
a  carefully  ordered  dinner  in  a  "  beanery,"  that 
reduced  his  capital  to  about  a  dollar  and  a  half. 


134          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

In  the  morning,  he  took  the  "  ads."  that  he 
had  torn  from  the  papers,  and  started  out  to  find 
work.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  he  couldn  't  find  it  — 
he  must  have  experience  here,  he  must  know  the 
trade  there;  he  was  too  young,  or  too  old,  etc., 
etc.  And  he  went  home  tired  and  hungry,  and 
ate  his  capital  down  to  sixty  cents. 

As  he  sat  in  his  room,  there  came  to  him  from 
the  room  adjoining,  the  clear,  beautiful  notes 
of  a  woman's  voice  —  Aida  in  East  Twelfth 
Street!  He  listened  and  knew  that  the  voice 
was  no  ordinary  one.  Somehow,  he  knew  it  was 
the  girl  with  the  music-roll  that  he  had  met  on 
the  steps.  She  sang  many  times  during  the 
evening,  and  he  was  sorry  when  she  stopped; 
but  he  was  tired  and  fell  into  a  dreamless  sleep 
—  tomorrow  something  must  be  done. 

Tomorrow  saw  the  last  of  his  money  go,  and 
no  work  was  in  sight.  He  saw  men  at  work 
with  pick  and  shovel  in  the  street,  and  it  actually 
looked  attractive  to  him.  As  he  got  hungrier, 
he  remembered  the  bread-line  that  he  had 
watched  with  idle  curiosity  from  the  twelve- 
inch  upholstery  of  his  automobile.  But  he  had 
decided  to  play  the  game;  and  if  this  was  a 
part  of  it,  he  would  play  it.  He  heard  the 
songs  again  that  evening,  and  was  soothed  and 
comforted  by  the  music. 

The  next  morning,  he  applied  for  work  to  the 


Making  Over  of  Geoffrey  Harming       135 

boss  of  a  gang  that  was  tearing  up  a  street,  and 
the  boss  looked  over  his  big  frame,  and  took 
him  on  by  the  day.  After  an  hour  of  it,  it 
seemed  as  though  he  could  stand  it  no  longer; 
but  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  through  with 
it,  and  he  did.  Margaret  Maxwell  and  two  of 
his  friends  drove  past  in  a  motor-car,  but  of 
course  did  not  recognize  him,  although  the  car 
stopped  within  a  few  feet  of  him,  and  he  leaned 
on  his  shovel  and  looked  straight  at  them.  Flan 
agan,  the  boss,  swore  at  him  for  "  soldiering," 
and  Geoffrey  resumed  his  work.  When  night 
came,  he  got  his  slip  for  one  dollar  and  sixty- 
five  cents  —  the  first  money  he  had  ever  earned ! 
He  was  sore  and  stiff,  and  glad  of  it!  He  had 
proved  that  he  could  work,  anyhow.  She  did  not 
sing  that  night,  and  he  felt  disappointed. 

He  worked  three  days;  and  then,  when  Flan 
agan  got  particularly  abusive  to  a  much  smaller 
man,  Geoffrey  knocked  him  down,  and  of  course, 
was  discharged.  It  was  not  easy  to  get  another 
job,  and  he  and  Hennessy,  the  janitor,  used  to 
talk  it  over  o'  nights  and  exchange  ideas  on  the 
state  of  the  labor  market.  He  met  the  girl,  too, 
quite  naturally,  and  they  had  pleasant  little 
talks  across  the  fire-escape  that  joined  their  win 
dows,  chaperoned  by  fire-escape  parties  above 
and  below.  He  found  that  her  name  was  Har 
mony  Laurie,  and  that  she  taught  music  that 


136          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

she  might  study  it,  and  that  she  was  going  to 
be  a  great  singer  if  she  could.  That  she  had 
gray  eyes  and  brown  hair,  and  believed  she  had 
a  '  '  future  ' ' 

And  he  thought  so  too.  He  resolved  to  help 
her  toward  her  ambition.  He  wrote  to  Lawyer 
Mathews  about  it  secretly;  and  one  evening, 
Harmony  told  him  enthusiastically  that  she  had 
had  a  fine  choir  position  offered  her  —  and  he 
never  let  her  suspect  that  he  was  at  the  bottom 
of  it.  She  said  he  must  come  to  hear  her  sing. 
He  went  —  his  first  appearance  in  church  in  some 
years  —  and  he  was  very  glad  he  went. 

One  evening,  Hennessy  told  him  that  good 
jobs  were  to  be  had  at  Old  Man  Manning's  mill 
—  the  last  strike  had  made  many  vacancies. 
Work  in  the  mill  of  his  father!  Why  not?  The 
very  irony  of  the  thing  attracted  him.  He 
applied,  of  course  unrecognized,  and  was  taken 
on.  He  trucked  pig-iron  until  one  day  he  made 
a  suggestion  to  the  foreman  that  showed  he  was 
intelligent  and  interested  in  his  work;  the  sug 
gestion  was  adopted,  and  he  was  advanced.  He 
stood  now  at  one  of  the  blazing  forges,  grimy 
of  hand  and  face,  bare  armed  and  bare  chested, 
with  leather  apron,  and  swung  a  heavy  sledge 
with  mighty  blows  upon  the  hot  metal. 

One  day,  his  father  escorted  some  visitors 
through  the  mill.  Geoffrey  knew  several  in  the 


Making  Over  of  Geoffrey  Manning       137 

party;  but  no  one  suspected  that  the  grimy  giant 
was  Geoffrey  Manning,  and  he  didn't  inform 
them.  Old  Man  Manning  noticed  him  and  in 
quired  about  him,  and  the  foreman  told  him 
that  the  giant  was  a  man  by  the  name  of  Hunter, 
and  that  he  was  the  best  man  in  the  works. 
Mr.  Manning  grunted,  and  went  off:  with  his 
party. 

Indeed,  the  men  in  the  mill  had  begun  to  look 
up  to  him;  he  attended  their  meetings  and  was 
interested  in  their  affairs.  He  saw  their  homes ; 
he  saw  their  needs  and  their  wrongs  as  they  saw 
them;  for  was  he  not  one  of  them?  He  was 
being  made  over  as  the  iron  is  made  over  in 
a  Bessemer  converter.  He  looked  on  them  now, 
not  as  cogs  in  the  wheel  —  not  as  mere  units  in 
a  system  that  was  made  for  his  benefit  —  but 
as  sentient  beings,  heads  of  families,  each  having 
his  own  place  in  the  world. 

And  all  the  while,  he  and  Harmony  drew 
closer  together.  When  he  spent  an  evening 
without  seeing  her  or  hearing  her  sing,  he  felt 
uncomfortable  and  incomplete.  Then  came  the 
trouble  at  the  mill  —  the  very  industrial  air  was 
full  of  strikes  and  discontent,  and  John  Manning 
was  a  hard  man  to  give  in  to  labor's  demands. 
The  men  decided  that  Geoffrey  should  present 
their  case.  He  told  them  it  was  impossible;  he 
could  not  face  his  father  then  without  revealing 


138          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

his  identity,  and  he  wasn't  ready  for  that  by  a 
long  way.  But  they  insisted,  and  he  went  home 
that  night  to  think  it  over. 

Harmony  was  all  in  a  flutter  —  she  had  been 
asked  to  sing  at  the  Charity  Bazaar  —  a  func 
tion  of  the  elect,  for  fashionable  giving.  He 
must  go,  she  said.  He  looked  at  himself  in  the 
glass;  his  flesh  hung  no  longer  in  flabby  folds  — 
muscles  had  taken  the  place  of  them;  his  beard 
was  gone  —  no  one  would  know  him.  He  called 
up  Togo,  and  Togo  came  with  the  evening 
clothes  —  just  as  though  it  were  part  of  the 
day's  routine.  No  one  but  Geoffrey  could  get 
any  information  out  of  Togo,  and  his  secret  was 
safe.  Geoffrey  stood  among  the  elect  again, 
and  many  looked  at  him  and  searched  the  cran 
nies  of  their  memories,  but  they  couldn't  quite 
"  make  him." 

And  Harmony  sang  beautifully.  She  and 
Geoffrey  went  away  together,  Harmony  feeling 
a  little  awed  and  uncomfortable  —  he  looked  so 
distinguished  —  but  she  was  happy  withal. 

A  block  from  home,  Geoffrey  darted  out  into 
the  street  and  pulled  a  waif  from  under  the 
wheels  of  a  passing  "  joy-rider;"  and  when 
they  picked  him  up  from  the  gutter,  it  didn't 
look  as  though  he  would  ever  be  of  much  account 
again.  For  many  days  he  lay  and  babbled  of 
the  mill  and  of  Harmony  and  "  father,"  and  for 


Making  Over  of  Geoffrey  Manning       139 

many  days,  Harmony  watched  and  prayed  beside 
him.  Finally  his  strong  body  and  his  clean 
living  won  out,  and  the  light  of  reason  came 
again  into  his  eyes;  —  reason,  and  something 
else,  too. 

He  went  back  to  the  mill  and  the  trouble  was 
still  troubling.  He  felt  strong  enough  now  to 
take  up  their  cause  with  his  father.  He  went 
into  the  office  —  the  beard  had  grown  —  and  his 
father  knew  him.  As  he  told  the  men's  story 
and  pleaded  their  cause,  the  scales  fell  from 
the  Old  Man's  eyes,  and  he  knew  the  whole 
truth.  He  recognized  in  his  son  the  giant  of 
the  forge.  This  man  whom  all  commended,  and 
on  whom  all  leaned,  was  his  son  —  no  longer 
the  idler  and  the  Sybarite,  but  the  tower  of 
strength  and  reliance  he  had  pictured  his  son 
should  be!  That  was  one  strike  the  men  won, 
anyhow. 

And  Harmony  —  Geoffrey  and  the  Old  Man 
fooled  her  scandalously!  After  the  wedding  in 
the  Eev.  Mr.  HollywelPs  study,  at  which  the 
witnesses  were  Hennessy  (who  allowed  as  how  he 
was  the  best  man)  and  an  old  man  in  white  side- 
whiskers,  who  wore  rough  clothes  and  who  was 
so  excited  that  he  kissed  both  the  bride  and 
groom,  and  gave  Mr.  Hollywell  a  thousand  dol 
lar  bill,  they  went  to  a  house  that  Geoffrey  told 
Harmony  had  been  lent  them  for  the  honey- 


140          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

moon.  She  felt  a  little  like  Cinderella  at  the 
ball  among  the  Persian  carpets  and  tapestries 
and  paintings  and  statuary  and  butlers  and  foot 
men  and  the  Jap  and  the  maids  —  all  of  whom 
seemed  to  know  Geoffrey  and  the  little  old  man 
with  the  white  side-whiskers,  who  bossed  every 
body  about  as  though  he  owned  the  place,  and 
took  such  an  interest  in  the  bride  and  groom. 
And  then  Geoffrey  had  to  go  and  call  him 
"Father"  —  and  the  cat  was  out  of  the  bag! 
And  —  but  what's  the  use  of  telling  it  all? 

When  Geoffrey  Manning,  Jr.,  gets  big  enough, 
he  will  have  a  fine  job  learning  the  business  of 
"  John  Manning  &  Son,"  and  I  take  it  he 
will  have  an  inheritance  better  than  that,  too. 
Mental  traits  are  handed  down  from  father  to 
son  just  as  surely  as  bonds  or  blond  hair;  and 
the  making-over  of  Geoffrey  Manning  will  take 
off  just  that  much  of  the  handicap  the  youngster 
would  have  had,  if  his  father  had  not  put  his 
soul  on  trial. 


THE  LAW  AND  PEGGY 

Produced  by  The  Universal  Film  Company. 
Featuring  EDITH  ROBERTS. 

Among  the  many  mortgages  to  which  Hugh 
Travers  fell  heir  at  the  death  of  his  very  wealthy 
father,  was  one  upon  "  the  house,  lands,  build 
ings,  and  all  the  contents  thereof,"  belonging 
to  one  Dabney  Fairfax,  of  Cloverdale.  The 
mortgage  was  long  past  due,  no  interest  having 
been  paid  upon  it  for  years;  and  so  Hugh, 
having  some  eye  to  business,  in  clearing  up  a 
lot  of  odds  and  ends  of  the  estate,  had  the 
mortgage  foreclosed,  and  took  over  the  prop 
erty,  as  there  were  no  other  bidders.  For  some 
reason,  there  seemed  to  be  great  delay  in  getting 
rid  of  the  tenant  who,  Hugh  was  informed,  was 
a  Miss  Fairfax;  and  so,  Cloverdale  being  within 
easy  motoring  distance  from  the  city,  Hugh  con 
cluded  to  take  a  run  down  there  and  see  about  it. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  "  tenant,"  Miss  Fair 
fax,  was  exactly  eighteen,  just  old  enough  to 
escape  the  nuisance  of  a  legal  guardian;  but  she 
had  a  very  efficient  and  natural  one  in  old 

141 


142          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Mandy,  who  had  been  a  "  servant  in  the  house  " 
for  more  than  a  generation,  and  whose  devotion 
to  Peggy  was  a  matter  upon  which  there  could 
be  no  doubt.  Nominally  a  servant,  she  was 
really  "  boss  of  the  outfit/'  and  did  the  plan 
ning,  and  what  little  "  financeering  "  there  was 
—  and  that  was  really  a  good  deal;  for  the 
Fairfax  purse  was  exceedingly  slender,  and  it 
required  considerable  tact  and  sagacity  to  "  get 
by."  Peggy's  grandfather  had  left  her,  his  only 
living  kin,  a  fine  little  collection  of  debts  and 
the  old  mortgaged  home  as  a  legacy;  and  now, 
by  due  process  of  law,  the  home  had  been  sold 
out  over  Peggy's  head  under  foreclosure  to 
Hugh  Travers,  mortgagee,  and  he  wanted  pos 
session. 

Peggy  and  Mandy  could  not,  of  course,  under 
stand  any  process  to  be  reasonable  whereby  they 
would  be  deprived  of  the  home  that  had  been  in 
the  family  for  more  than  a  century,  and  so  Peggy 
decided  that  she  wouldn't  leave  it,  law  or  no 
law.  And  in  this  she  was  backed  up  by  the 
belligerent  Mandy,  to  the  mortal  terror  of  those 
who  had  been  there  to  serve  the  various  kinds 
of  papers  that  such  a  proceeding  requires.  Old 
Judge  Harkness,  who  had  been  a  friend  of  the 
Fairfaxes  for  fifty  years,  drove  by  in  his  old 
ramshackle  buggy  and  stopped  at  the  gate, 
where  Peggy  stood  playing  with,  a  cat.  She 


The  Law  and  Peggy  143 

ran  to  the  buggy  and  made  the  cat  walk  the 
wheel  as  they  talked. 

"  You  know,  Honey,"  he  said,  "  the  old  place 
is  sold  to  that  city  chap.  Where  are  you  and 
Mandy  aimin'  to  go?  " 

"  We  ain't  aimin'  to  go  no  place,"  said  the 
complaisant  Peggy,  "  we  are  go  in'  to  stay." 
Logic  failed  anybody  in  the  presence  of  Peggy, 
and  the  old  Judge  shook  his  head  and  sighed 
sadly,  and  drove  along.  Let  somebody  else  tell 
her  all  the  unpleasant  things  which  she  must 
soon  hear  —  he  would  not. 

Of  course,  Hugh  had  never  seen  Peggy.  He 
imagined  the  Miss  Fairfax,  who  was  the  hold 
over  tenant  that  he  was  having  so  much  trouble 
in  getting  out,  to  be  a  tall,  gaunt  old  maid, 
probably  too  mean  to  pay  anything  she  could 
avoid,  and  altogether  a  most  undesirable  and 
uncomfortable  person. 

He  drove  into  Cloverdale  in  his  big  car,  and 
stopped  at  the  Judge's  office.  The  Judge  sat 
smoking  a  pipe,  his  coat  off  and  his  feet  on 
the  table,  when  Hugh  came  in  and  explained  his 
errand;  and  with  reluctance,  the  Judge  began 
to  draw  the  papers.  The  Sheriff  and  his  Dep 
uty,  middle-aged  men  and  long  time  friends  of 
the  Fairfaxes,  stopped  at  the  gate  to  talk  to 
Peggy. 

In  the  midst  of  the  conversation,  Hugh  drove 


144          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

by  in  his  car,  and  almost  broke  his  neck  looking1 
back  at  Peggy,  who,  by  the  way,  nearly  broke 
hers  looking  after  him;  all  of  which  was  seen  by 
Mandy,  and  Peggy  was  forthwith  ordered  into 
the  house. 

As  the  Sheriff  and  his  Deputy  passed  the 
Judge's  office,  the  Judge  leaned  out  of  the  win 
dow  and  called  them  in  and  gave  them  the 
papers  in  the  case  of  Travers  vs.  Fairfax.  He 
told  them  that  they  had  all  known  the  girl  since 
infancy,  and  he  knew  how  they  hated  to  do  it; 
but  "  the  law's  the  law,"  said  the  Judge,  and 
they'd  have  to  do  their  duty.  They  took  the 
papers  and  started  toward  the  Fairfax  home, 
looking  for  all  the  world  like  two  truant  school 
boys  about  to  follow  father  to  the  woodshed. 
Each  tried  to  put  it  off  on  the  other,  and  neither 
being  willing,  they  concluded  that  misery  loved 
company  enough  to  go  together.  Mandy  admit 
ted  them,  grudgingly,  and  went  to  get  Peggy, 
while  they  sat  in  the  old  fashioned  parlor, 
nervous  and  uncomfortable.  Peggy  came  in, 
and  they  handed  her  the  papers  and  explained. 

Mandy  rolled  up  her  sleeves  belligerently. 
"  Who  say  dat  chile  gotta  get  out?  Le's  see 
somebody  jes'  look  like  dey  gwine  put  her  out! 
Jes'  le's  see  'em!  Dass  all!  '  And  the  Deputy 
hastily  pointed  out  that  they  were  acting  under 
the  Judge's  order,  signed  by  him. 


The  Law  and  Peggy  145 

"  Why,  the  very  idea!  "  said  Peggy.  "  How 
dare  Judge  Harkness  do  anything  like  that  after 
we  have  entertained  him  here  for  years!  "  The 
Sheriff  and  the  Deputy  agreed,  weakly,  that  it 
did  seem  strange;  and  after  a  little  more  talk, 
they  left,  each  feeling  like  a  criminal. 

They  had  scarcely  gone,  when  Hugh  stood  at 
the  front  door  and  knocked,  and  was  finally 
admitted  by  the  suspicious  Mandy;  and  Peggy 
came  demurely  in. 

Hugh  looked  at  her  and  smiled  pleasantly  — 
"  I  asked  for  Miss  Fairfax,  the  tenant  here. 
I  suppose  she  is  your  aunt  —  or  something?  " 

Peggy  explained  that  she  was  the  only  "  Miss 
Fairfax,"  and  the  one  against  whom  he  had 
set  the  mighty  machinery  of  the  law  in  motion; 
and  he  felt  more  like  a  criminal  than  the  Sheriff 
had.  And  as  fast  as  his  confused  brain  would 
let  him,  he  told  her  that  the  lawyers  had  made 
a  big  mistake ;  and  it  took  him  so  long  to  explain 
that  he  stayed  to  supper.  And  before  they  knew 
it  —  the  moon  was  very  bright  that  night  —  it 
was  bedtime!  Peggy  wouldn't  hear  of  his  going 
to  the  hotel  —  in  the  first  place,  there  wasn't 
any  —  and  so  it  was  arranged  that  he  stay  there 
for  the  night.  He  and  Peggy  were  at  the  piano 
in  the  big,  quaint,  candle-lighted  parlor,  when 
Mandy  came  in  with  Peggy's  candle  in  her  hand 
and  sent  her  off  to  bed.  Peggy  was  reluctant  to 


146          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

go,  and  indicated  that  Hugh  must  be  taken 
care  of. 

"  Yass'm,"  said  Mandy,  "  I  done  'range  'bout 
dat.  De  gen'lmun  g-wine  to  sleep  in  de  barn." 
Peggy  put  up  an  awful  kick,  but  Hugh  hastened 
to  assure  her  that  he  had  intended  doing  that  all 
the  time;  and  finally  Mandy  led  the  way  to  the 
barn,  a  candle  in  her  hand  and  bed-clothes  in  her 
arms,  slammed  up  some  straw  in  a  corner,  and 
flung  down  the  bed-clothes.  "  Dar!  "  she  said, 
laconically. 

Hugh  smiled,  and  thanking  Mandy,  he  drew 
out  a  huge  roll  of  bills  and  peeled  off  several 
and  handed  them  to  Mandy.  Mandy  gasped; 
and  right  there,  her  opinion  of  Hugh  went  up 
nine  hundred  per  cent.  She  hastily  and  solicit 
ously  re-arranged  the  make-shift  bed,  and  after 
thanking  Hugh  profusely,  she  went  out  chuckling. 

Many  times  thereafter,  Hugh's  car  drew  up 
to  the  Fairfax  door;  and  one  day  it  stopped  at 
the  Judge's  office.  The  Sheriff  and  the  Deputy 
were  there,  and  it  cannot  be  said  that  Hugh's 
reception  was  cordial.  But  Hugh  explained  that 
if  he  had  known  anything  of  the  circumstances, 
he  would  never  have  dreamed  of  trying  to  dis 
possess  Peggy,  and  that  he  wanted  the  Judge 
to  draw  a  lease,  whereby  Peggy  might  use  the 
property  as  long  as  she  paid  to  him  one  half 


The  Law  and  Peggy  147 

of  "  the  profits  "  of  the  farm.  The  Judge  and 
the  Sheriff  and  the  Deputy  got  up  and  wrung 
Hugh's  hand,  and  the  Judge  indignantly  refused 
to  take  a  cent  for  his  services  in  the  matter. 

Armed  with  the  lease,  Hugh  started  back  to 
the  farm.  Peggy  had  been  thinking  things  over, 
and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  all 
wrong  for  her  to  stay  on  another's  property,  and 
had  finally  convinced  Mandy  of  it.  They  got 
together  in  the  parlor  a  few  of  their  most  treas 
ured  possessions,  including  the  cat,  and  when 
Hugh  came  in,  he  found  them  both  tearful  over 
the  pitiful  little  heap  of  treasures. 

"  We  know,"  said  Peggy,  "  that  everything 
in  the  house  was  sold  with  it,  but  Mandy  and  I 
thought  maybe  you  would  be  willing  to  sell  us 
these  things  —  and  the  cat,  Mandy  has  a  little 
money." 

Hugh  hastily  exhibited  the  lease  and  explained 
its  terms.  Mandy  praised  God  loudly,  and 
Peggy,  in  the  excess  of  her  joy,  threw  her  arms 
about  Hugh's  neck  and  kissed  him;  then  ran 
like  a  scared  rabbit  out  of  the  room,  shame 
facedly.  Mandy  knelt  down  and  kissed  the  hem 
of  his  garment;  but  Hugh  was  looking  after 
Peggy.  Mandy  looked  at  Hugh  and  indicated  that 
he  would  better  find  Peggy. 

He  went,  and  he  finally  cornered  Peggy,  who 


148          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

held  herself  braced  against  the  door  to  keep  him 
out.  He  called  to  her  —  she  took  one  hand  away, 
then  one  or  two  fingers  of  the  other,  until, 
finally,  the  door  was  held  against  him  by  her 
little  finger.  And  that  is  never  strong  enough 
to  keep  a  big,  eager  man  away  from  what  he 
wants. 


THE  PASSING  OF  DUSTY  EHODES 

Produced  by  The  Universal  Film  Company. 

Featuring  KING  BAGGOT. 

Directed  by  Mr.  Webster. 

His  name  was  "  Dusty  Rhodes. "  At  least, 
that  is  what  his  companions  of  the  road  called 
him.  Among  these  gentry  one  name  is  as  good 
as  another,  and  no  questions  are  asked  about 
one's  private  affairs.  He  came  swinging  down 
the  hilly  country  road  toward  the  little  town, 
looking  the  typical  tramp,  with  fuzzy  whiskers 
and  dangling  can.  He  saw  no  chalk-mark  sym 
bols,  such  as  his  kind  are  wont  to  leave  in 
conspicuous  places  for  the  benefit  of  their  fellows 
who  may  follow,  and  he  tried  his  luck  at  the 
back  door  of  a  rather  comfortable  looking  farm 
house.  A  kindly  old  lady  brought  him  out  a 
"  knee-deep  "  pie  and  other  things,  such  as  he 
had  not  seen  in  years. 

But  the  fairest  prospects  are  sometimes  decep 
tive,  and  even  as  he  ate,  a  sour  looking  woman 
was  telling  the  town  constable  that  there  was 

149 


150          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

a  tramp  in  town  down  at  Miss  Peabody's.  And 
pointing  to  the  placard  that  was  pasted  on  the 
outer  walls  of  the  post-office,  giving  notice,  in 
no  uncertain  terms,  that  all  tramps  would  be 
given  a  chance  at  the  rock  pile  if  they  remained 
in  town  more  than  fifteen  minutes,  she  sharply 
chided  the  peace  officer  on  his  neglect  of  duty. 
And  that  worthy,  seeing  that  his  Colt  .44  was  in 
good  working  order,  and  taking  a  firmer  grasp 
on  his  club,  started  in  haste  in  the  direction  of 
Miss  Peabody's  to  uphold  the  majesty  of  the 
law.  He  grabbed  the  good  natured  and  unresist 
ing  Dusty  just  as  he  had  finished  the  last  of  the 
milk  and  pie,  and  hustled  him  down  to  the  post- 
office,  much  as  the  Caesars  brought  in  their  cap 
tives;  and  showing  him  the  placard,  while  the 
natives  threatened  and  plagued,  told  Dusty  to 
be  on  his  way  and  to  beware  his  return.  And 
Dusty  stood  not  on  the  order  of  his  going, 
though  in  a  peaceful  and  dignified  manner,  and 
as  if  there  were  no  hurry  about  it. 

Down  the  road  he  went,  whistling  and  singing, 
stopping  only  to  pick  a  wild  flower  and  put  it 
in  his  tattered  coat.  As  night  was  falling,  he 
went  into  the  woods,  selected  a  suitable  spot, 
built  himself  a  small  fire  by  a  big  rock  under 
an  overhanging  tree,  and  settled  down  to  roast 
a  few  potatoes  —  a  tramp  can  eat  any  time  — 
and  to  look  into  the  glowing  embers  —  there  is 


The  Passing  of  Dusty  Rhodes  151 

nothing  like  looking  into  glowing  embers  in  the 
vast  solitude  of  the  woods  for  introspection. 

Slowly  visions  of  his  past  went  before  him  in 
review  —  the  failure  of  the  bank,  wherein  were 
his  savings,  the  pillaged  safe  that  forced  upon 
him  the  knowledge  that  his  friend  and  partner 
had  robbed  him;  the  drowning  of  his  wife  and 
little  daughter.  And  then  the  almost  inevitable 
bottle  for  such  natures  as  his,  and  the  rapid 
descent  into  lost  ambitions  and  inebriety.  And 
finally,  here  he  was,  a  tramp,  kicked  out  of  town 
and  shunned  like  a  pestilence.  When  he  came 
to,  his  potatoes  were  charred,  but  he  only 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  composed  himself 
for  sleep. 

And  as  he  and  the  village  slept  in  fancied 
security,  the  logs  that  the  lumbermen  had  cut 
for  many  days  in  the  winter  and  spring  and  had 
set  adrift  in  the  river  above  the  town,  came 
swirling  down  with  the  current,  until,  in  an 
unlucky  moment,  one  of  them  caught  and  held 
the  others  as  they  came,  and  the  dreaded  log 
jam  of  the  lumber  towns  was  a  reality!  Just 
as  the  dawn  was  breaking,  a  frantic  man  climbed 
dripping  from  the  river  and  ran  through  the 
town  giving  the  alarm  and  calling  all  men  to 
help.  They  came  to  the  river  bank  and  looked 
upon  the  thundering  waters  and  the  perilous  task 
that  confronted  them. 


152          Little  Stones  from  the  Screen 

Dusty  heard  the  tumult  and  came  too.  Hemmed 
in  the  steep  gorge  of  the  river,  their  homes  and 
their  all  were  imperiled.     It  was  almost  certain 
death  to  try  to  break  the  jam.     The  constable 
was  there,  and  the  postmaster,  and  the  squire, 
and  the  town  bully  —  but  none  of  them  wanted 
the  job,  though  women  wept   and  prayed   and 
begged  them  to  try.     It  was  a  man's  job,  and 
Dusty   took   it.     He   stripped   off  his   coat   and 
shoes,  and  grasping  an  axe  and  a  pike,  he  went 
into  the  angry  waters.    He  slipped  a  dozen  times 
in  the  boiling  torrent  and  the  treacherous  logs 
and  the  blinding  spray,  while  the  hearts  of  the 
watchers   sank  in   their  bosoms   and  it   seemed 
impossible  that  he  could  reach  the  "  key-log. " 
But  he  made  it,   and  with  powerful  blows   he 
cut    it    away,    and    the    mass    tottered,    swayed, 
groaned,  and  fell,  as  Dusty  leaped  for  safety. 
Too  late.    And  as  the  women  covered  their  faces, 
he  rolled  from  the  logs  into  the  black  waters, 
and  to  —  Heaven,  is  my  guess. 

And  when  the  men  sat  before  the  post-office 
and  talked  it  over  —  they  weren't  any  too  proud 
of  themselves.  Old  Miss  Peabody  came  —  she 
who  had  given  him  the  pie  and  the  milk  at  her 
door —  and  looked  them  over  as  though  she 
didn't  see  anything  in  particular,  and  ripped 
off  the  placard  from  the  post-office  wall  that 
gave  warning  to  all  tramps,  and  tore  it  into  bits. 


The  Passing  of  Dusty  Rhodes  153 

And  if  you  will  go  up  behind  the  village  to  the 
spot  they  still  call  "  God's  Acre  "  in  that  part 
of  New  England,  you  will  see  a  rude  memorial 
to  an  unknown  man  who  gave  his  life  that  others 
might  live. 


THE  SOCIAL  ADVENTURES  OF  LORD 
NOCASTLE 

In  production  by  The  Edison  Company. 

The  matutinal  "  tub  "  was  evidently  in 
splashy  progress,  and  from  behind  the  screen 
in  Lord  Nocastle's  modest  lodgings,  in  a  gen 
teel  but  not  exclusive  part  of  London,  came 
heart-rending  shrieks  for  a  towel.  Gubbins,  his 
man,  who  was  quietly  helping  himself  to  a  por 
tion  of  the  contents  of  a  decanter  which  stood 
on  the  table,  was  so  startled  that  he  spilled  most 
of  it,  almost  strangled  on  the  rest,  and  dropped 
the  glass,  but  sprang  away  on  a  frantic  hunt  for 
that  very  necessary  article.  Around  the  side  of 
the  screen  protruded  the  wet  head,  shoulder,  and 
arm  of  His  Lordship,  as  he  urged  the  clumsy 
and  rattled  Gubbins  to  greater  speed  and  effi 
ciency.  It  was  of  no  use  —  there  didn't  seem 
to  be  any  towels;  and  as  a  substitute,  Gubbins 
snatched  a  huge  fur  motoring  coat  from  a  closet, 
and  draped  it  over  the  shivering  shoulders  of  the 
nobleman. 

All  this  time,   an  insistent  and  authoritative 

154 


Social  Adventures  of  Lord  Nocastle      155 

knocking  was  going  on  at  the  door  of  the  outer 
room;  and  Gubbins,  in  his  agitation,  upset  the 
screen;  and  there,  in  a  little  tin  tub,  sat  the 
next  in  succession  to  the  title,  with  about  one 
hundred  and  eighty  dollars'  worth  of  fur  over 
coat  draped  tastefully  about  him.  Gubbins 
replaced  the  screen  about  the  outraged  nobleman, 
and  hurried  to  the  door.  There  stood  the  huge 
and  belligerent  Mr.  Small,  a  most  insistent  and 
annoying  creditor  of  His  Lordship,  with  two 
other  individuals  who  simply  had  accounts  to 
collect. 

Mr.  Small  had  every  appearance  of  a  man 
who  was  about  to  commit  mayhem,  or  something 
equally  unpleasant.  The  two  inoffensive  col 
lectors,  arriving  at  the  same  moment  as  Mr. 
Small,  shrank  within  themselves  every  time  he 
glared  at  them,  and  backed  up  a  little.  Gubbins 
explained  to  Mr.  Small  —  he  paid  no  attention 
to  the  other  men  —  that  he  had  called  at  a  most 
inopportune  time,  and  that  if  he  would  wait  a 
little,  His  Lordship  would  undoubtedly  adjust 
the  account.  This  did  not  seem  at  all  satisfac 
tory  to  Mr.  Small,  who  said  that  he  would  wait  — 
on  the  front  steps  —  and  see  His  Lordship  in 
person;  and  on  the  steps  he  proceeded  to  seat 
himself.  The  two  other  men  concluded  to  wait 
also,  but  to  stand.  But  after  Mr.  Small  had 
looked  at  them  a  couple  of  times,  they  concluded 


156          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

to  "  call  it  a  day,"  and  left,  leaving  the  field 
entirely  to  Mr.  Small. 

By  the  time  Gubbins  got  His  Lordship  par 
tially  dressed,  the  landlady  came  in  with  the 
breakfast  and  the  mail;  and  between  buttoning 
His  Lordship's  collar  and  opening  the  eggs, 
Gubbins  had  considerable  difficulty  in  keeping 
the  two  apart,  not  having  recovered  from  the 
daily  shock  administered  to  him  by  the  bel 
ligerent  Mr.  Small.  Finally,  as  His  Lordship 
was  pulling  on  his  gloves  preparatory  to  depart 
ing,  Gubbins  ventured  to  remind  him  that  Mr. 
Small  was  still  seated  on  the  front  steps;  and 
added,  "  beggin'  'is  Ludship 's  pawdon,"  that 
"  it  seemed  'ighly  necessary  that  'is  Ludship 
see  'is  huncle,  the  Hearl,  and  hobtain  sufficient 
money  to  happease  this  quite  ferocious  Mr. 
Small.  'E's  a  bit  of  a  wrong  'un!  Hi  quite 
fear  for  me  life,  beggin'  Your  Ludship 's 
pawdon!  " 

As  a  precautionary  measure,  Nocastle  took  a 
peek  out  of  the  window,  and  sure  enough,  there 
sat  Mr.  Small  upon  the  steps!  His  Lordship, 
after  deliberation,  decided  to  postpone  his  de 
parture,  for  the  time  being. 

Then  and  there  arose  the  loyal  soul  of  Gub 
bins.  It  was  entirely  necessary  that  His  Lord 
ship  get  out  of  the  house  and  see  his  uncle,  "  the 
Hearl."  Gubbins  put  on  his  hat  and  coat  and 


Social  Adventures  of  Lord  Nocastle      157 

stole  softly  down  the  stairs  and  opened  the  door. 
The  broad  expanse  of  Mr.  Small's  back  almost 
filled  the  steps.  Gubbins  took  a  hitch  in  his 
trousers  and  swallowed  hard  a  couple  of  times, 
and  then,  dashing  past  Mr.  Small,  he  jammed 
that  gentleman's  hat  down  upon  his  eyes  so 
hard,  that  by  the  time  Mr.  Small  had  pried  his 
head  out  of  it,  Gubbins  had  at  least  fifteen  feet 
start,  which  was  not  an  inch  too  much;  for  Mr. 
Small  took  up  the  chase  with  surprising  agility 
for  a  man  of  his  size. 

But  the  ruse  succeeded,  and  whatever  the  fate 
of  the  loyal  Gubbins,  Lord  Nocastle  came  out  of 
his  lodgings  with  the  leisurely  and  unconcerned 
air  that  befitted  his  station,  even  pausing  on  the 
steps  to  light  a  cigarette;  all  of  which  would 
have  been  impossible  except  for  the  self-immola 
tion  of  the  devoted  Gubbins.  His  Lordship  came 
into  his  uncle's  library  unannounced,  and  found 
the  old  gentleman  chuckling  over  something 
which  he  manifestly  tried  to  conceal,  with  more 
or  less  success. 

The  old  Earl  knew  exactly  what  was  coming, 
and  before  His  Lordship  had  got  well  started 
in  his  story,  the  Earl  held  up  a  protesting  hand 
—  '  *  Spare  me  the  awful  and  harrowing  details  — 
how  much!  "  "  Two  hundred  pounds,"  said  his 
nephew,  a  trifle  uncertainly.  This  brought  forth 
an  apoplectic  roar  from  the  old  man,  and  Lord 


158          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Nocastle  amended,  hastily,  "  One  hundred/' 
This  was  like  a  back  tooth,  but  the  Earl  turned 
to  his  desk  to  write  the  cheque.  His  Lordship, 
deeming  it  best  to  let  well  enough  alone,  shut 
up  like  a  clam;  but  stepping  over  to  the  table, 
he  saw  thereon  a  long,  white  kid  glove!  He 
adjusted  his  monocle  and  examined  it;  and  it 
was  only  with  the  greatest  presence  of  mind 
that  he  restrained  himself  from  saying,  "  My 
word!  " 

The  Earl  handed  him  the  hastily  scribbled 
cheque,  and  his  demeanor  toward  his  nephew 
was  so  unmistakably  that  of  a  man  who  wants 
to  be  alone  that  Lord  Nocastle  mumbled  his 
perfunctory  thanks  and  went  out  wondering. 
He  arrived  at  the  club  almost  at  the  same 
moment  as  the  perspiring  Gubbins,  Mr.  Small 
having  finally  given  up  the  pursuit,  with  certain 
remarks  about  what  he  would  do  the  next  time 
he  met  him.  There  was  considerable  method  in 
Gubbin's  madness,  for  he  knew  that  if  any  part 
of  Uncle's  cheque  were  to  be  applied  to  alleviat 
ing  the  strain  at  the  lodging,  he  would  better 
meet  Lord  Nocastle  going  into  the  club,  rather 
than  coming  out. 

And  indeed,  Gubbin's  apprehension  was  jus 
tified,  for  at  the  moment  when  he  was  reaching 
for  the  cheque,  Lord  Nocastle  having  indorsed 
it,  a  fellow  member  came  down  the  steps,  look- 


Social  Adventures  of  Lord  Nocastle      159 

ing  very  dejected  about  something,  and  told  His 
Lordship  what  a  bally  mess  he  was  in  and  how 
he  jolly  well  needed  a  hundred  pounds  to  get 
him  out  of  it.  And  when  Nocastle  sympathized 
with  the  man  and  gave  him  the  cheque  and  went 
back  into  the  club  with  him,  Gubbins  collapsed, 
and  felt  that  Love's  labors  are  indeed  lost,  at 
times ! 

Mile.  Fifi  LeClaire  (nee  Katie  Cleary)  was 
the  rage  of  The  Follies  Parisienne.  And  when 
she  shooed  a  bunch  of  Johnnies  out  of  her  dress 
ing  room,  telling  them,  as  well  as  she  could  on 
account  of  the  shrieks  of  laughter,  some  of  which 
was  her  own,  that  she  was  going  to  be  married, 
not  one  of  them  believed  her.  But  Mile.  Fifi  was 
over  seven  and  would  not  tear  under  the  wing, 
and  she  knew,  all  the  time,  exactly  how  many 
beans  made  six  —  which  being  interpreted  means, 
that  she  had  been  graduated  from  the  broiler 
class  and  was  wise  in  her  day  and  generation. 

She  took  up  from  her  table  a  bunch  of  roses 
that  must  have  cost  about  nine  thousand  kopecks, 
and  smuggled  her  nose  into  them  and  laughed. 
She  looked  at  a  card  that  was  attached  to  the 
bunch,  and  laughed  again,  louder  than  ever,  and 
proceeded  to  dress  for  the  evening  performance. 

It  was  very  dull  at  the  club,  and  somebody 
proposed,  that  they  go  to  see  Fifi;  Lord  Nocastle 
didn't  really  want  to  go,  but  they  dragged  him 


160          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

to  it.  And  from  one  of  the  boxes,  he  got  his 
first  look  at  Fifi,  and  was  not  particularly 
impressed.  Fifi  devoted  all  her  attention  to, 
and  played  exclusively  for,  someone  in  a  closely 
curtained  lower  box  opposite  to  them.  Lord 
Nocastle 's  companions  nearly  broke  their  necks 
trying  to  see  who  was  in  the  box,  but  were 
unable  to  do  so;  and  after  the  show,  it  was  pro 
posed  that  they  go  back  of  the  stage  to  see  her 
and  to  learn  why  she  had  deserted  them. 
Nocastle  refused  to  do  this,  and  got  into  a  cab 
instead,  headed  for  his  lodgings.  At  a  con 
gested  point,  a  big  limousine  was  held  up  for 
a  moment  alongside  of  him  and  he  got  a  good 
look  at  its  occupants  before  it  drew  away.  In 
the  limousine  were  his  uncle,  the  Earl  of  Pop- 
ham,  and  Mile.  Fifi  LeClaire!  "  My  word!" 
said  Lord  Nocastle. 

Gubbins  brought  the  morning  papers  to  His 
Lordship  as  he  sat  up  in  bed  and  sipped  his 
cocoa.  There  were  scare  headlines  which  said 
that  the  aged  Earl  of  Popham  had  made  Mile. 
Fifi  LeClaire  his  Countess  the  day  before!  The 
faithful  Gubbins  collapsed  into  a  state  of  semi- 
coma;  but  His  Lordship  never  turned  a  hair. 
At  the  club,  the  reporters  asked  him  about  the 
affair  and  showed  him  the  newspaper  accounts. 
Lord  Nocastle  adjusted  his  monocle  with  care 
and  precision  and  looked  casually  at  the  article. 


Social  Adventures  of  Lord  Nocastle      161 

"  Aw,"  he  said,  calmly,  "  The  Earl  of  Popham, 
you  mean?  Eeally,  he  is  no  longer  an  uncle  of 
mine.  I  have  cast  him  off !  " 

Months  went  by,  and  it  came  about  that  one 
fine  morning,  as  he  walked  in  Rotten  Row  with 
a  club  friend,  Nocastle  met  some  Americans.  A 
tall  and  very  beautiful  girl  was  driving  a  slash 
ing  pair,  and  the  whole  turnout  attracted  much 
attention.  Beside  the  girl  sat  a  young  man  who 
had  "  Fifth  Avenue,  Manhattan,  U.  S.  A." 
stamped  all  over  him.  The  girl  nodded  brightly 
to  Lord  Nocastle 's  companion,  and  drew  up  the 
horses,  and  in  due  course,  His  Lordship  was 
presented  to  Helen  and  Larry. 

Nocastle  never  once  took  his  eyes  off  the  girl. 
"  Who  is  she?  "  he  asked,  when  they  had  finally 
driven  off? 

' '  That  is  Miss  Juggins, ' '  said  his  friend.  '  '  The 
daughter  of  Juggins  Soap  of  America,  or  some 
thing.  No  end  of  money,  and  all  that,  doncher- 
know!  And  quite  ripping!  My  word!  What?  " 

Later  that  night,  when  he  and  his  friend  sat 
over  their  whiskey  and  water  in  Nocastle 's 
rooms,  his  friend  said,  "  I  say,  old  chap,  why 
don't  you  have  a  run  over  to  America  and  all 
that?  Some  of  our  chaps  have  done  rawther 
well  over  there.  What?  '  And  the  more  His 
Lordship  thought  the  matter  over,  the  more 
attractive  it  seemed. 


162          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

The  Countess  of  Popham,  formerly  Fifi  Le- 
Claire,  was  entertaining  that  evening  —  just  a 
few  friends  from  the  Follies  Parisienne  who 
had  dropped  in  casually  —  and  they  had  quite  a 
pleasant  evening,  losing  most  of  their  awe  for 
the  nobility  after  the  sixth  drink,  and  after  they 
had  found  out  that  the  gorgeous  individual  in 
livery  wasn't  "  the  Hearl."  The  Countess  was 
quite  her  old  self,  and  mixed  the  drinks  on  the 
piano,  and  played  for  them  to  dance.  In  fact, 
she  did  a  little  dancing  herself,  just  to  show 
them  that  she  hadn't  forgotten.  "  Bli'me,"  said 
one  of  the  guests,  "  bein'  a  bloomin'  nabob  'asn't 
chainged  'er  a  bit!  " 

The  "  Hearl  "  was  beginning  to  feel  that  way 
about  it,  too.  He  sat  in  the  library  and  listened 
to  the  bric-a-brac  break,  as  several  of  the  guests 
showed  a  little  of  their  stuff  in  acrobatic  and 
juggler  specialties.  And  the  Countess  was  a 
good  deal  put  out  about  it  when  the  Earl 
stamped  in  and  ordered  them  all  out  of  the 
house.  They  went,  after  considerable  debate, 
the  Countess  having  countermanded  the  EarPs 
order;  but  they  all  promised  to  come  again. 
Some  of  the  gentlemen,  as  well  as  all  the  ladies, 
insisted  on  kissing  the  Earl  affectionately  at 
parting!  What  saved  the  old  man  from  apop 
lexy  is  a  mystery. 

And  it  was  just  about  this  time,  that  Lord 


Social  Adventures  of  Lord  Nocastle      163 

Nocastle,  having  turned  the  matter  of  America 
over  in  his  mind,  rose  and  said  to  the  appre 
hensive  Gubbins,  "  Pack  the  luggage!  We  shall 
sail  for  America  —  if  I  can  borrow  the  money. 
I  quite  wonder  what  boat  that  Miss  Juggins  is 
taking!  " 

The  dining  room  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  mansion 
of  J.  Hooper  Juggins,  was  a  trifle  smaller  than 
the  Polo  Grounds,  and  for  the  purpose  of  dining, 
it  was  just  about  as  comfortable.  It  was  here 
that  J.  Hooper  received  instruction  in  table  eti 
quette  from  Mrs.  J.  Hooper  and  a  most  impres 
sive  butler,  at  meals.  It  was  a  part  of  the  duty 
of  the  butler  to  guide  the  erring  feet  of  the 
Juggins  family  along  the  somewhat  difficult  path 
of  Swelldom 's  good  form.  He  was  eminently 
fitted  for  the  job,  for  had  he  not  buttled  for  a 
family  worth  at  least  six  millions  more  than  J. 
Hooper?  Quite  so! 

J.  Hooper  Juggins  used  to  be  John  H.  Juggins 
when  he  had  a  soap-works  over  in  Hoboken,  and 
was  piling  up  his  millions.  At  that  time,  John 
H.  Juggins  considered  himself  quite  a  man,  with 
a  strong  and  aggressive  personality;  it  was  well 
known  that  "  he  could  talk  to  truck-drivers  in 
their  own  language."  Under  the  enervating 
influence  of  the  atmosphere  of  plutocracy,  how 
ever,  J.  Hooper  Juggins  lost  much  of  the  asser 
tive  nature  of  John  H.,  and  acquired  that  of  a 


164          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

tame  rabbit,  always  conscious  that  he  was  doing 
something  he  ought  not  to.  His  mistakes  at 
table  were  pointed  out  by  Mrs.  Juggins,  who 
usually  used  a  fork  or  a  stick  of  celery  as  a 
pointer.  The  butler  called  attention  to  his  trans 
gressions,  and  to  those  of  Mrs.  Juggins  as  well, 
by  coughing  behind  his  hand;  which  manner  of 
correction  was  so  incessant  that  it  threatened  to 
result  in  an  affection  of  the  throat. 

J.  Hooper  was  usually  very  tolerant  and  amen 
able  to  these  corrections,  wincing  and  starting 
guiltily,  with  a  sort  of  "  Now-what-have-I- 
done?  "  air.  But  at  times,  he  would  kick  over 
the  traces,  slam  down  his  napkin,  and  retreat 
to  the  sanctuary  of  the  library,  where  he  was 
allowed  some  latitude.  Removing  his  coat  and 
boots,  and  assuring  himself  that  the  argus-eyed 
butler  was  not  spying,  he  would  light  a  very  dis 
reputable  and  smelly  pipe,  take  from  the  book 
case  a  section  of  pasteboard  which  was  painted 
to  represent  the  backs  of  books,  and  which  con 
cealed  a  black  bottle  and  two  glasses,  and  pro 
ceed  to  enjoy  himself.  If  there  happened  to  be 
company,  the  butler  came  in  and  made  him  put 
out  the  pipe  and  put  on  his  coat  and  boots  — 
he  was  always  careful  to  conceal  the  black  bottle 
himself.  Frequently,  the  butler  returned  to  the 
dining  room  to  find  Mrs.  Juggins  pouring  her 
coffee  into  the  saucer,  and  he  would  cough  in  a 


Social  Adventures  of  Lord  Nocastle      165 

most  distressed  manner;  and  Mrs.  Juggins  would 
pour  the  coffee  back  into  the  cup  apologetically, 
and  drink  it  with  the  air  of  a  duchess. 

It  was  toward  this  household,  on  the  same  boat 
with  Helen  and  Larry  Juggins,  that  Lord  Nocas- 
tle  was  headed.  Among  those  on  the  pier  to  see 
him  off  was  Mr.  Small,  who  had  recovered  his 
belligerency;  but  he  was  just  late  enough  to  see 
the  boat  slip  out  into  the  stream,  and  to  be 
mocked  by  the  safe  and  exultant  Gubbins. 

The  trip  was  somewhat  eventful,  Gubbins 
being  very  ill  most  of  the  way,  which  fact  threat 
ened  to  keep  Lord  Nocastle  in  bed,  as  he  had  the 
utmost  difficulty  in  dressing  himself;  and  prob 
ably  never  would  have  accomplished  it,  but  for 
a  steward  who  responded  to  his  S.  0.  S.  Inci 
dentally,  Lord  Nocastle  exposed  a  couple  of 
"  Deep  Sea  Fishermen, "  who  had  Larry  well 
hooked  in  a  poker  game,  by  turning  up  the  table 
and  revealing  a  small  but  efficient  "  bug  "  which 
one  of  them  was  using,  at  intervals,  to  strengthen 
his  hand.  This  episode,  together  with  the  fact 
that  he  was  most  entertaining  on  moonlight 
nights,  when  he  and  Helen  paced  the  deck  or  sat 
in  the  steamer  chairs,  made  him  pretty  solid  with 
the  Juggins  family.  And  when  the  big  ship 
landed,  he  rode  in  their  Mercedes  to  the  portals  of 
the  St.  Croesus  Hotel,  where  "  Ma  "  Juggins 
advised  him,  by  all  means,  to  stay !  —  little  know- 


166          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

ing  that  his  monthly  cheque  from  the  solicitors 
was  for  the  sum  of  twenty  pounds! 

His  stay  there  was  not  altogether  happy,  as 
may  be  imagined.  He  ignored  the  glistening 
porcelain  bath-tub,  and  used  the  little  tin  affair 
that  he  had  brought  with  him,  the  patient  Gub- 
bins  filling  it  with  a  pitcher!  In  some  way,  the 
particular  piece  of  "  luggage  ' '  that  contained 
his  shirts  was  lost,  and  he  and  Gubbins  were  put 
to  much  inconvenience  thereby.  Toward  the  end 
of  their  stay,  Gubbins  had  to  do  considerable 
laundry  work,  as  "  the  blighter  of  a  Chinaman  " 
refused  to  give  up  the  package  without  the  money. 

His  first  call  at  the  Jugginses  was  eventful. 
Old  Man  Juggins  was  snoring  sonorously  in  the 
library,  and  the  sound  was  wafted  across  the 
hall  to  the  drawing  room.  Mrs.  Juggins  sent  the 
butler  in  with  whispered  orders  to  stop  it  at  all 
hazards; — ("hazards"  is  right),  for  the  Old 
Man  woke  in  no  very  good  humor.  Before  he 
could  collect  himself,  the  butler  had  invested  him 
with  his  boots ;  but  being  thoroughly  wakened  by 
this  process,  he  balked  at  his  coat  and  insisted 
on  having  his  pipe. 

"  'Is  Lordship  is  calling"  protested  the  butler, 
in  awed  and  shocked  whispers. 

"  To  hell  with  His  Lordship, "  shouted  Juggins, 
"  I  want  my  pipe!  '  And  he  started  toward 
the  drawing  room  to  get  it,  remembering  that 


Social  Adventures  of  Lord  Nocastle      167 

he  had  left  it  on  the  piano.  The  panic-stricken 
butler  followed  with  his  coat,  and  Mrs.  Juggins 
frantically  waved  a  staying  hand  through  the 
draperies  that  separated  the  drawing  room  from 
the  hall. 

But  Juggins  was  not  to  be  denied;  opposition 
only  served  to  spur  him  on.  He  took  a  wallop 
at  the  butler  who  w^as  trying  to  put  on  his  coat, 
brushed  aside  the  waving  hand  of  Mrs.  Juggins, 
and  entered.  "  Hello,  Duke,"  he  said,  "  how's 
the  King  and  Mrs.  Pankhurst  gettin'  along  these 
days?  "  Mrs.  Juggins  finally  got  him  out,  when 
he  led  the  conversation  toward  a  discussion  of 
the  soap  business,  and  took  him  back  into  the 
library. 

But  when  Lord  Nocastle  was  leaving,  and  was 
alone  in  the  hall  with  the  butler,  Juggins  put  his 
head  out  of  the  library  and  beckoned  —  "  Psst!  " 
Lord  Nocastle  went  into  the  library,  Juggins 
removed  the  pasteboard  from  the  bookcase,  got 
out  the  black  bottle  and  the  glasses.  "  I  thought 
mebbe  Your  Gountlets  would  like  to  hit  up  a 
couple  of  these  here  powders  before  you  went. 
It's  been  a  pretty  dry  evenin  V 

And  right  there  is  where  "  His   Countlets  ' 
made    himself    solid    with    Old    Man    Juggins. 
He  sat  down  and  '  '  hit  up  ' '   several,   and  dis 
cussed   the    soap    business   for   two   hours.    He 
went,  at  last,  after  — "  Just  one  more  '  shock,' 


168          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Your  Princeship!  Jes'  one  little  ole  nightcap! 
This  ain't  no  third  rail  stuff!  "  And  they  did. 

The  Old  Man  went  to  the  door,  with  his  arm 
about  Lord  Nocastle's  shoulder,  pushed  the  but 
ler  out  of  the  way,  opened  the  door,  pumped  His 
Lordship's  hand  hard,  and  told  him  to  run  in 
any  old  time;  and  if  he  didn't  happen  to  be  there 
he  knew  where  to  find  the  "  tonsil  varnish!  " 
He  closed  the  door  and  looked  at  the  butler,  who 
retired  hurriedly,  and  said,  to  himself,  that  he 
"  guessed  he'd  hit  the  Ostermoor  himself.'' 

Larry  had  been  called  on  the  telephone  early 
in  the  evening.  On  the  other  end  of  the  wire 
was  Mrs.  Knollys.  At  her  side,  in  her  fine  apart 
ment  on  The  Drive,  stood  one  Tony  Martinez, 
who  was  part  of  her  entourge,  and  who  "  framed 
up  "  schemes  whereby  she  and  he  lived.  This 
time  the  "  good  thing  '•  was  Larry.  He  was 
very  willing  to  come;  and  he  and  Mrs.  Knollys 
spent  a  very  pleasant  evening;  so  pleasant,  in 
fact,  that  when  Martinez  came  in,  he  found  Mrs. 
Knollys  sitting  very  comfortably,  smoking  and 
smiling.  "  Nothing  to  it,  Tony!  '  she  said, 
blowing  out  a  cloud  of  smoke.  "  He  is  ripe 
enough  to  be  hand-picked.  I'm  going  to  marry 
him!" 

Things  on  the  other  side  of  the  water  had 
come  to  a  crisis  between  the  old  Earl  and  his 
young  wife.  Long  since,  he  had  called  in  his 


Social  Adventures  of  Lord  Nocastle      169 

solicitors  and  bade  them  cut  her  out  of  his  will 
as  far  as  the  law  would  let  them  —  ' '  Except  of 
course,  in  case  an  heir  should  be  born."  And 
Fifi,  listening  at  the  door,  made  up  her  mind  that 
that  was  exactly  what  was  going  to  happen  — 
heirs  can  be  obtained  almost  anywhere,  if  one 
has  the  money  and  the  nerve  —  and,  Fifi  had 
both,  together  with  a  large  amount  of  unscru- 
pulousness,  and  she  proceeded  to  act  accordingly. 

Things  were  going  kind  of  tough  with  Lord 
Nocastle  and  Gubbins  at  the  St.  Croesus;  they 
didn't  eat  very  regularly,  for  the  remittance 
cheque  was  long  overdue.  Lord  Nocastle  dined 
frequently  at  the  Juggins's,  and  managed  to  con 
ceal  food  in  his  coat-tail  pockets  and  bring  it 
home  to  Gubbins,  though  once  he  forgot,  and 
spent  a  most  uncomfortable  evening  sitting  on  it. 
Then,  again,  on  this  day,  Gubbins  had  put  Lord 
Nocastle 's  only  shirt  into  the  bath-tub  when  the 
telephone  rang.  It  was  Larry,  who  insisted  that 
His  Lordship  meet  him  and  the  prospective  Mrs. 
Larry  at  Victor's  for  dinner.  Lord  Nocastle 
tried  to  get  out  of  it,  but  couldn't.  He  looked 
at  Gubbins,  whose  shirt  was  fresh  laundered. 
Gubbins  had  got  to  be  a  mind-reader,  these  days, 
and  started  to  peel  off  his  shirt;  and  His  Lord 
ship  kept  the  appointment. 

He  arrived  at  Victor's  a  little  too  early  and 
took  a  seat  at  the  table  a  little  removed  from 


170          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

the  body  of  the  room.  He  saw  Larry  and  Mrs: 
Knollys  come  in  and  seat  themselves,  and  then 
Larry  looked  around,  and  finally  saw  him  and 
came  to  his  table.  While  Larry  had  his  back 
turned  to  his  own  table,  Lord  Nocastle  saw  Tony 
Martinez  go  quickly  to  Mrs.  Knollys,  slip  a  note 
to  her,  and  then  very  slyly  kiss  her  and  hurry 
away.  Larry  didn't  see  this,  but  Lord  Nocastle 
made  up  his  mind  that  the  lady  was  no  fit  person 
to  become  Mrs.  Larry,  and  he  proceeded  to  prove 
it  to  the  satisfaction  of  Larry  by  stealing  the 
lady  from  him  and  eventually  getting  possession 
of  the  note. 

But  Larry  didn't  understand,  and  thought 
Lord  Nocastle  was  only  taking  his  girl  away 
from  him,  and  was  very  sore  about  it.  He  got 
up  from  the  table  and  left  in  a  huff;  and  in  a 
moment  more,  the  rest  of  the  Juggins  family 
came  into  the  restaurant,  and  Mrs.  Juggins  and 
Helen  spotted  Lord  Nocastle  and  Mrs.  Knollys 
seated  over  a  bottle  of  wine,  a  previous  bottle 
of  which  had  made  the  lady  not  only  affectionate 
in  her  demeanor  toward  His  Lordship,  but  also 
careless  about  who  saw  it.  And  the  result  was 
that  the  Juggins  family  filed  out,  cutting  Lord 
Nocastle  dead  —  except  Old  Man  Juggins,  who 
winked  violently  at  him  as  he  passed.  And  in 
the  car,  going  home,  he  said,  "  You  got  to  hand 
it  to  his  Dukeship  for  bein'  a  hot  little  sport 


Social  Adventures  of  Lord  Nocastle     171 

with  the  dames!  My  word!  What?"  And 
being  duly  sat  on,  he  shut  up,  but  continued  to 
chuckle. 

They  wouldn't  let  Lord  Nocastle  explain; 
always  at  the  Juggins  mansion,  they  were  "  not 
at  home."  But  Lord  Nocastle  sat  in  the  St. 
Croesus  and  bided  his  time,  knowing  that  it 
would  all  come  out  some  day.  In  the  darkest 
hour,  when  things  couldn't  be  worse,  they  waited 
for  the  cheque,  but  feared  to  go  to  the  door.  An 
insistent  knocking  made  Gubbins  stand  stock  still 
and  say  "  Shussh!  "  Then  a  big  envelope  came 
sliding  under  the  door,  and  Gubbins  grabbed  it. 
Lord  Nocastle  opened  it  deliberately,  read  it,  and 
then  looked  straight  ahead,  letting  his  hand  fall 
limply.  Gubbins  took  the  cablegram  and  read  it. 
It  stated,  very  simply,  that  a  son  had  been  born 
to  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Popham!  And  Gub 
bins  collapsed  in  a  heap  on  the  floor!  Gone  were 
all  the  dreams,  gone  all  hope ! 

Over  in  England,  Fifi,  with  the  aid  and  con 
nivance  of  the  doctor  and  a  nurse,  and  by  liberal 
use  of  money,  had  procured  an  heir  to  the  Earl 
dom,  and  it  was  easy  to  make  the  old  Earl 
believe  that  it  was  his.  But  crime  is  weakness, 
and  weakness  always  leaves  something  unpro 
vided  for.  This  time,  it  was  Tony  Martinez. 
The  letter  that  Lord  Nocastle  had  taken  from 
Mrs.  Knollys  said  that  Tony  had  just  discovered 


172          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

that  his  wife,  who  believed  him  dead,  had  been 
married  to  an  English  nobleman,  and  that  the 
state  of  facts  ought  to  make  good  picking  for 
him,  and  that  he  was  leaving  for  the  other  side. 
It  advised  Mrs.  Knollys  to  marry  the  "  sucker," 
and  that  he,  Tony,  would  join  her  later.  Tony 
made  several  ineffectual  attempts  to  see  his  wife, 
and  finally  got  desperate  and  climbed  into  her 
room  from  a  balcony;  whereat  she  promptly 
screamed,  not  recognizing  him  at  first.  This 
brought  the  Earl  and  several  servants,  with  the 
result  that  when  it  was  all  over,  Fifi  had  to  con 
fess  that  Tony  was  her  lawful  husband,  and  the 
nurse,  who  was  rather  a  decent  person  and 
ashamed  of  her  part  in  the  deception,  told  how 
the  baby  had  been  procured.  The  shock  was  too 
much  for  the  old  Earl;  and  when  the  next  day, 
the  nurse  came  in  with  the  baby  to  find  what 
disposition  was  to  be  made  of  it,  the  Earl  sat 
very  white  and  still  in  the  big  library,  and 
neither  she  nor  the  butler  nor  anyone  else  could 
wake  him. 

And  then,  in  that  even  darker  hour  at  the  St. 
Croesus,  came  another  message  to  "  The  Earl 
of  Popham,  formerly  Viscount  Nocastle."  It 
said  that  the  old  Earl  was  dead,  and  that  the 
circumstances  preceeding  his  death  made  it  cer 
tain  that  Lord  Nocastle  had  come  into  the  title. 
Gubbins  danced  and  hoorayed.  "  You  forget 


Social  Adventures  of  Lord  Nocastle      173 

that  my  uncle  is  dead,"  reproved  His  Lordship. 
And  Gubbins,  abating  not  a  jot  in  his  merriment, 
said,  "  Beggin'  your  Lordship's  pawdon,  an' 
meanin*  no  disrespect  to  the  former  Hearl,  I'm 
blime  glad  of  it!  " 

Lord  Nocastle  and  Gubbins  sat  in  the  ancestral 
library,  and  the  butler  had  brought  in  two 
glasses  with  the  bottle.  Nocastle  read  a  letter 
from  Larry ;  it  said  that  when  they  got  his  letter, 
they  all  understood  his  action,  and  Larry  thanked 
God  that  Lord  Nocastle  had  saved  him  from 
Mrs.  Knollys  and  himself.  (Old  Man  Juggins 
said  that  they  ought  to  have  known  that  His 
Majesty  was  a  hot  little  sport)  —  and  that  they 
were  all  sailing  on  the  first  boat.  Lord  Nocastle 
raised  his  glass  to  clink  with  that  of  the  tremu 
lous  Gubbins,  when  the  nurse  came  timidly  in 
with  the  baby  and  asked  what  should  be  done 
with  it.  His  Lordship  looked  at  it  for  a  long 
time,  and  then  reached  out  and  took  it.  And  as 
he  clinked  glasses  with  Gubbins,  he  dandled  the 
baby  on  his  knee. 


A  PAIR  OF  QUEENS 
Produced  by  The  Vitagraph  Company  of  America. 

Featuring  FLORA  FINCH,  KATE  PRICE, 
HUGHEY  MACK,  and  WILLIAM  SHAY. 

Directed  by  George  Baker. 

At  seven-forty,  on  the  morning  after  the  ball 
of  the  Pants  Pressers'  Union,  Local  No.  21,  the 
landlady  knocked  violently  on  the  door  of  the 
girls '  room  —  they  were  due  at  the  store  at 
eight.  Mame  and  Sadie  opened  their  eyes  and 
looked  at  the  clock  in  a  startled,  bewildered  way, 
and  then  tumbled  out  of  bed  and  into  their 
clothes  with  all  possible  dispatch. 

"  Here's  where  the  boss  grabs  off  one  swell 
little  fine  from  we  two,"  said  Mame,  as  she 
wedged  up  her  abundant  back  hair,  and  deftly 
fastened  it  with  two  hairpins.  "  Gee!  This  high 
society  life  is  fierce!  " 

Mame  was  in  the  "  Gents'  Haberdashery , " 
down  at  Pimpels,  and  Sadie  held  a  steady  job 
in  the  "  Ladies'  Shoes  "  at  the  same  place.  All 
they  had  to  do  was  to  stand  behind  a  counter 

174 


A  Pair  of  Queens  175 

from  eight  A.  M.  until  six  P.  M.,  six  days  a 
week,  pull  down  upwards  of  a  million  boxes,  and 
try  on  about  the  same  number  of  shoes,  and  keep 
their  tempers  and  be  nice  and  pleasant  Then, 
every  Saturday  evening,  they  walked  up  to  the 
cashier's  cage,  and  that  gentleman,  with  evident 
unwillingness,  not  unmixed  with  an  air  of  being 
convinced  that  they  were  taking  money  under 
false  pretenses,  reluctantly  handed  each  an  enve 
lope  in  which  there  were  six  dollars  —  that  is, 
six  dollars,  less  the  fines  they  had  incurred  dur 
ing  the  week  for  various  infractions  of  the  rules. 
The  fines  ranged  from  five  cents  to  one  dollar. 
Then  they  had  nothing  to  do  until  Monday  morn 
ing!  (And  there  are  people  who  want  to  stop 
all  forms  of  amusement  on  Sunday!) 

They  hustled  down  the  front  steps,  putting  on 
their  jackets  as  they  ran,  and  bidding  a  hasty 
"  Good  morning  "  to  Hooligan,  the  iceman,  who 
stood  upon  the  sidewalk  holding  a  very  small 
piece  of  ice  in  a  very  large  pair  of  tongs. 

"  Youse  wrens  is  behind  yer  schedule/'  he 
grinned;  "  Throw  her  into  high,  and  never  mind 
the  traffic  cops,  if  ye  want  the  store  to  open  on 
time!  "  The  girls  stopped  long  enough  at  the 
stand  on  the  corner  to  get  a  piece  of  chewing 
gum  —  for  breakfast;  and  at  six  minutes  after 
eight,  the  floor- walker  said,  cheerfully,  "  You  are 
each  fined  twenty-five  cents  for  being  late!  " 


176          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

"  What  do  you  mean,  late?  "  said  Mame. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sadie,  "  Where  do  you  get  that 
stuff?  We  was  in  the  parcel  room  lookin'  for  a 
'  stray!  '  " 

"  And  five  cents  for  impertinence/'  quoth  the 
floor-walker.  "  You  can't  put  nothing  like  that 
over  on  me.  I  seen  you  when  you  come  in." 
And  he  walked  over  to  Mazie's  counter  (Mazie 
was  in  the  "  Ladies'  Hose  ")  and  chucked  her 
under  the  chin  in  a  patronizing  way.  Someone 
had  told  him,  once,  that  he  looked  like  Earle 
Williams. 

Mame  followed  him  with  wrathful  eyes. 
"  Say,"  she  said  to  Lizzie,  in  the  "  Corsets," 
"  Say!  Did  you  get  that?  If  that  guy  ever 
done  that  to  me,  I'd  knock  his  block  off!  Me 
an'  Sadie  was  to  the  Pants  Pressers'  Ball  last 
night.  One  dead  swell,  elegant  little  affair,  take 
it  from  me,  Kid!  An'  perfect  gents,  them  peo 
ple  are  —  there  wasn't  more'n  three  or  four 
fights  all  evenin'  —  hardly!  We  gets  nicked 
thirty  cents  by  this  here  Francis  X.  Bushman 
just  now  for  bein'  late;  but  believe  me,  it  was 
worth  it!  '  And  Mame  turned  languidly  to  half- 
a-dozen  women  customers  who  purchased  14% 
collars  for  husbands  with  16  necks.  (Why  not? 
Wasn't  it  "  a  sale?  ") 

Sadie  fitted  a  pair  of  4-A  shoes  on  a  two  hun 
dred  pound  woman  with  a  6-D  foot.  "  If  you 


A  Pair  of  Queens  177 

find  them  a  little  large,  Madam,"  said  Sadie, 
with  consummate  saleswomanship,  "  I  can  put 
an  insole  in  'em  for  you,  but  they  look  somethin' 
grand  on  you!  Mary  Garden  always  gets  them 
same  kind."  The  woman  decided  that  the  insole 
was  not  necessary,  and  limped  out.  .  .  . 

What  ever  brought  Hennessy  into  a  depart 
ment  store  will  always  be  a  mystery,  probably; 
but  there  he  was  —  Hennessy,  one  hundred  and 
ninety-five  pounds  of  plumber  and  gas-fitter! 
He  wandered  down  the  aisle  in  a  befuddled  sort 
of  way,  with  the  air  of  a  man  seeking  nothing 
in  the  world  but  an  exit.  As  he  passed  Maine's 
counter,  whether  it  was  her  big  mop  of  bronze 
hair  or  the  red  neckties  with  nice  gold  stripes  in 
them  that  caught  his  eye,  I  cannot  say.  But 
the  fact  is,  he  hesitated;  and  you  know  what 
happens  to  the  man  that  hesitates!  And  Mame 
had  a  very  friendly  face. 

11  0  you!  "  cooed  Hennessy  as  he  came  to  the 
counter. 

"  GrVan,"  said  Mame,  coquettishly,  "  the  kid- 
din'  room  is  on  the  roof!  Take  the  elevator  an' 
get  the  air!  " 

"  I  was  up  there,"  said  Hennessy,  "  but  they 
told  me  you  was  down  here.  What  might  them 
be?  "  said  he  as  he  pretended  to  examine  one  of 
the  gorgeous  ties. 

"  Them  is   neckware,"   said   Mame.     "  Fifty 


178          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

cents  to  yon,  but  half  a  dollar  to  anyone  else. 
You  better  take  a  green  one!  ' 

"  What  you  say  goes  wit'  me,"  said  Hennessy, 
"  an'  't  is  me  own  choice  besides.  Do  you  kape 
collars?  " 

"  We  do  not  —  we  sell  'em,"  said  Mame. 
"  Do  you  want  a  nice,  thick,  leather  one  with 
brass  nails  in  it  —  or  mebbe  you're  shoppin'  for 
somebody  else  an'  want  the  linen  ones?  "  and 
she  took  down  several  boxes.  "  You're  lookin' 
in  the  wrong  place  —  I  ain't  got  'em  in  my  hair, 
they're  on  the  counter  here!  Besides,  the  floor 
walker  is  watchin'  you  —  the  store  has  lost  a  lot 
lately  through  shop-liftin'." 

Hennessy  grinned,  and  eyed  the  Earle  Wil 
liams  person  contemptously  — "  Him  and  me  '11 
go  to  the  mat,  if  he  butts  in  on  me  an'  you,  Kid. 
Lave  me  see  them  seventeen  and  a  halfs. 

For  half  an  hour,  Hennessy  and  Mame 
exchanged  shots  across  the  counter,  and  Hen 
nessy  bought  a  great  many  things  he  didn't 
want  (even  as  you  and  I).  And  when  he  went, 
Sadie  and  Mazie  and  Lizzie  and  Genevieve  and 
the  rest  descended  on  the  flushed  and  happy 
Mame.  "  Who  's  the  John,  Mame?  "  they 
chorused.  "  He  certainly  did  camp  here!  He 
never  seen  nothing  he  bought,  neither,  for  he 
never  took  his  lamps  off'n  yuh!  " 

"  Ain't  he  a  scream!  "   said  Mame.     "  An* 


A  Pair  of  Queens  179 

say!  He's  no  John,  not  by  no  means,  he  ain't. 
His  name's  Hennessy,  an'  he's  a  single  party, 
an'  him  an'  me's  goin'  to  the  Bricklayers'  an' 
Mortar- Workers '  Ball  tomorrow  night !  Oh  Boy ! 
I  knowed  him  for  a  regular  guy  the  minute  I 
lamped  him!  " 

"  Five  cents  fine  apiece  for  talking,"  said  the 
floor-walker  person,  as  the  girls  scattered  at  his 
approach. 

"  I  should  worry!  "  said  Mame. 

Sadie  sat  on  the  front  steps  of  the  rooming- 
house,  the  following  evening,  and  watched  Mame 
sail  away  on  the  arm  of  the  stalwart  Hennessy 
for  the  Bricklayers'  Ball,  and  Sadie  was  heavy 
of  heart.  "  See  that  you  come  home  sober, 
Mame!  "  she  called  after  them  in  a  feeble 
attempt  at  raillery. 

"  It's  better  to  be  brought  home  in  '  the 
wagon'  than  not  to  go!"  laughed  the  sharp- 
witted  Mame;  and  such  a  rejoinder  from  one's 
pal  doesn't  exactly  add  to  the  gaiety  of  nations. 

Sadie  sighed,  and  studied  the  toes  of  her  shoes. 
When  she  looked  up,  there  stood  Hooligan,  the 
iceman,  at  the  railing.  There  was  that  in  his 
manner  that  was  tentative.  He  had  worshipped 
Sadie  from  afar  for  a  good  while,  and  had 
exchanged  bits  of  repartee  with  her  from  the 
sidewalk  mornings;  but  this  was  his  first  real 
tete-a-tete. 


180          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

11  For  where  is  them  two  headed,  wid  all  that 
park  harness  on  'em,  Miss  Sadie!  "  he  ventured. 

11  To  the  Bricklayers'  Ball,"  said  Sadie,  "  an' 
I  wisht  I  was,  too!"  said  Sadie,  — "  not  that 
I'm  hintin'." 

"  I  hear  from  Casey  'twill  be  some  party!  " 
said  Hooligan.  "  He  said  he  was  pretty  tired  to 
go,  but  he  thought  a  couple  o'  fights  would  rest 
'im.  All  guns  an'  brass  knuckles  checked  at  the 
dure,  an'  every  thing  nice  an'  safe.  Now, 
if-  -" 

"  You're  on!  "  said  Sadie,  as  she  flew  into 
the  house  to  dress. 

It  was  a  "  regular  "  ball,  although  there  were 
really  very  few  ambulance  calls,  and  the  reserves 
came  in  only  toward  the  end.  Hooligan  knew 
almost  everybody,  and  so  did  Hennessy,  though 
they  didn't  know  each  other;  and  when  in  the 
mazes  of  a  fox  trot,  Hooligan  and  Sadie  bumped 
violently  into  Hennessy  and  Mame,  the  two  gen 
tlemen  immediately  assumed  belligerent  attitudes 
and  started  to  remove  their  coats  —  which  was 
contrary  to  the  injunction  promulgated  by  a  con 
spicuous  sign  reading,  "  Gents  Must  Not  Remove 
Their  Coats."  And  their  perfectly  evident  inten 
tion  to  engage  in  battle  was  also  contrary  to  the 
rule  laid  down  by  another  sign  which  read,  "Be 
Nice!  If  You  Want  to  Fight,  Go  to— Belgium!  " 


A  Pair  of  Queens  181 

Hostilities  were  averted,  however,  when  the  girls 
embraced,  glad  to  see  each  other. 

After  the  formalities  of  introduction  had  been 
concluded,  the  quartette  adjourned  to  a  table, 
presided  over  by  a  waiter  who  smoked  inces 
santly;  and  who,  in  addition  to  serving  drinks, 
was  expected  to  sing,  play  the  piano,  eject  unde 
sirables,  and  keep  an  eye  out  for  "  dips."  He 
was  busy,  at  times. 

"  Honest,  Mame,"  said  the  generous  Sadie,  as 
she  looked  over  the  top  of  her  stein,  "  you  cer 
tainly  look  grand  tonight!  That  bunch  o'  hicks 
over  there  is  rubberin'  at  you  good  an*  plenty. " 

"  I  ain't  got  nothing  on  you,  Sade;  you're  all 
to  the  Lady  Duff-Gordon  yourself!  "  replied 
Mame.  All  was  peace.  Hennessy  inquired  soli 
citously  of  Hooligan  about  the  ice  business;  and 
Hooligan,  in  turn,  asked  quite  as  solicitously  of 
Hennessy  about  the  plumbing  business.  And 
each  strove  in  genuine  rivalry  to  "  buy  "  oftener 
than  the  other.  The  ladies  were  a  bit  startled 
at  a  commotion  in  another  part  of  the  hall;  but 
the  waiter  said,  out  of  the  corner  of  his  mouth, 
"  Keep  your  seats,  ladies!  No  fire!  That's  just 
McManus  beatin'  up  a  Kike  who  was  givin'  three 
cheers  for  Ireland.  What  fell  right  has  them 
Kikes  got  to  cheer  for  Ireland?  "  And  thus,  it 
was  a  nice,  cozy,  comfortable  little  party;  all 
correctness  and  amity  —  mostly. 


182          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Of  course,  when  Maggie  Grabbenheimer,  the 
"  perfect  thirty-six  "  in  "  the  gowns/'  came  to 
the  table  and  tried  to  horn  in  on  the  party,  and 
Mame  jostled  a  waiter  who  was  bearing  aloft  a 
three-foot  tray  filled  with  ales,  wines,  liquors, 
and  cigars,  most  of  which  went  into  the  lap  of 
Miss  Grabbenheimer 's  new  silk  taffeta  (1.69  a 
yard,  reduced)  there  was  some  confusion,  not 
unmixed  with  acrimony.  But  as  Miss  Grabben 
heimer  was  "  withdrawn  "  from  the  party  before 
the  commission  of  any  overt  act,  things  resumed 
their  former  placidity. 

Hennessy  wanted  one  more  dance  — "  Let  me 
give  you  another  twist,  Kid.  The  blood  is  all 
mopped  up  by  now.  I  don't  know  them  fox  trot 
steps  any  too  good,  but  this  here's  a  waltz." 

"  Sure,"  said  Mame,  "  I  noticed  you  ain't. 
For  such  a  big  man,  you're  very  light  on  my 
feet!  '  And  off  they  went. 

Hooligan,  in  the  grip  of  his  new  patent 
leathers,  looked  appealingly  at  Sadie. 

"  Naw!  "  said  the  tactful  Sadie,  "I'd  rather 
set  it  out  —  with  you."  And  Hooligan  had  never 
heard  any  sweeter  music  than  those  words. 

It  was  only  a  moment  after  the  reserves  broke 
in  that  the  ladies  decided  it  was  time  to  be 
going  home.  Both  Hennessy  and  Hooligan  were 
rather  reluctant  —  it  seemed  highly  probable 


A  Pair  of  Queens  183 

that  an  opportunity  would  present  itself  to  soak 
a  policeman  or  two  —  but  both  gentlemen  gal 
lantly  denied  themselves  that  pleasure,  at  the 
request  of  the  yawning  ladies.  At  the  door  of 
the  rooming-house,  Mame  and  Sadie  assured 
them  that  they  had  had  "  one  grand  time." 

"  The  pleasure  was  all  our'n,"  said  the  Ches- 
terfieldian  Hennessy. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Mame.  "  Me  for  the  Oster- 
moor.  So  long!  " 

At  the  corner,  Hennessy  and  Hooligan  shook 

hands,    at    parting.      "  Say,"     said    Hooligan, 

"  you're  mebbe  up  in  them  kind  o'  things  —  how 

much  does  a  man  have  to  pay  down  whin  he 

uys  furniture  for  a  little  flat,  d'ye  know?  " 

"I  do  not,"  said  Hennessy,  "  but  I  was 
thinkin*  of  findin'  out  tomorrow,  meself."  And 
then,  as  by  mutual,  telepathic  consent,  they 
looked  around  the  four  corners  to  see  if  any 
place  was  open  wherein  "  men  may  put  their 
feet  upon  the  brass  rail,  and  deal  with  such 
matters  as  they  should  be  dealt  with." 

It  was  but  a  few  weeks  thereafter,  that  Hen 
nessy  stood  upon  the  steps  of  the  rooming-house, 
late  one  night,  and  "  put  his  fortune  to  the 
touch." 

"  I  got  the  furniture  bought,  and  here's  the 
weddin'  ring;  I  got  a  steady  job,  an'  the  boss 


184          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

raised  me  today  to  thirty-five  dollars  a  week. 
Would  ye  be  knowin'  aany  gurl  who'd  marry 
me?  '  Mame  had  one  hand  on  the  door  knob, 
and  Hennessy  had  firm  possession  of  the  other. 
Sadie  was  listening  at  the  window  above. 

Mame  looked  long  into  Hennessy 's  eyes. 
"  Mike,"  she  said,  "  gimme  that  ring  quick,  an' 
don't  talk  so  loud  or  some  of  them  Fifth  Avenue 
fortune-huntresses  will  hear  you,  an'  get  it  away 
from  me!  Thirty-five  dollars  a  week!  Mike,  I 
didn't  think  Rockefeller  got  that  much!  But, 
listen,  man,  honest  to  Gawd,  I'd  take  a  chance 
with  you  if  we  have  to  live  on  my  six!  That's 
how  much  I  know  a  girl  that'll  marry  you!  " 

And  as  Mame's  arm  went  about  Hennessy 's 
neck,  Sadie  drew  her  head  inside  the  window, 
like  the  lady  she  was.  "  Ah,  Hennessy,"  she 
sighed,  musingly,  "  you  don't  half  know  what  a 
lucky  mug  you  are!  ' 

And  thus  it  was,  that  one  Mike  Hennessy 
"  broke  a  pair  of  queens,"  as  the  saying  is;  or, 
rather,  perhaps  I  should  say  he  "  drew  one," 
and  it  strengthened  his  hand  sufficiently  to 
enable  him  to  open  the  jack-pot  of  Matrimony. 
And  in  due  time,  he  and  Mame  settled  down  to 
the  joys  of  life  (forget  the  ills  —  they  don't 
count,  anyway)  in  a  Harlem  flat;  and  Sadie  was 
left  in  maidenly  solitude  in  the  little  third-floor- 
front.  But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  Sadie 


A  Pair  of  Queens  185 

was  going  to  be  put  into  the  discard.  She  was 
still  a  "  queen, "  even  if  she  still  toiled  in  "  The 
Ladies'  Shoes/' 

Of  course,  Mame  couldn't  overlook  a  bet  like 
going  down  to  Pimpel's  and  having  Sadie  try  to 
"  fit  her  to  a  pair  of  shoes."  After  Sadie  had 
pulled  down  upwards  of  seventy-five  pairs,  none 
of  which  suited,  she  said  to  Mame,  "  Mebbe  you 
better  try  in  the  men's  department  —  they  don't 
come  no  larger  here.  Who  is  that  talkin'  to  your 
husband  at  the  door!  "  Mame  stifled  the  "  hot 
come-back  "  about  the  "  men's  department " 
that  she  had  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  and  looked. 
It  was  Maggie  Grabbenheimer,  "  the  perfect 
thirty-six  "  in  "  The  Ladies'  Gowns."  Mame  left 
hurriedly  —  so  did  Maggie  Grabbenheimer,  when 
she  saw  Mame. 

As  may  be  surmised,  Sadie  did  not  remain 
long  in  "  The  Ladies'  Shoes."  Hooligan  bore 
her  off  in  triumph  as  his  bride.  Hennessy  asked 
him  about  it  one  day,  for  Hooligan's  extreme 
bashfulness  was  proverbial.  "  How  did  ye  ever 
have  the  nerve?  "  asked  Hennessy. 

"  *  Nerve  '  is  right,"  said  Hooligan.  "  'Tis  a 
ticklish  business  askin'  a  foine  gurl  like  Sadie 
to  marry  the  loikes  o'  me;  but  I  wint  at  it  foxy 
like,  an'  overcome  her  objections  be  strategy.  I 
says  to  her  wan  evenin',  '  would  she  go  to  the 
movin'  pitchers,'  and  she  says  'would  she!' 


186          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

We  walked  up  Six't'  Aven'y  an'  she  looks  into 
a  jewelry  windy.  i  Which  av  them  rings  would 
ye  be  likin'  best?  '  says  I.  '  Them  plain  gold 
wans,'  says  she;  an'  I  thinks  to  meself  what  a 
sinsible  gurl  she  is  to  prefer  the  plain  wans  to 
one  wit'  a  rock  in  it.  We  passed  several  movin' 
pitcher  places,  but  it  seems  she  didn't  like  the 
bill.  We  come  to  wan  wit'  a  weddin'  it  in. 
*  We'll  go  in  here,'  says  she.  '  Weddin 's  is  my 
dish.'  'Ah.ha!'  thinks  I,  '  mebbe  there'll  be 
some  thin'  in  the  pitcher  that'll  give  me  kind 
av  an  openin'.'  It  seems  that  in  the  pitcher 
there  was  a  smooth  guy  had  somethin'  on  the 
hick  that  was  gettin'  married  to  the  gurl,  an' 
he  put  the  whole  thing  on  the  fritz.  *  Ain't  he 
grand?  '  says  she.  i  I  could  bate  the  face  off 'n 
'im,'  says  I.  *  For  why?  '  says  she.  *  Fer 
crabbin'  the  weddin','  says  I.  '  He  ain't  the 
only  wan  that's  crabbin'  a  weddin','  says  she, 
lookin'  at  me  funny  like.  *  I  don't  get  ye,'  says 
I.  '  I  didn't  think  ye  would,'  says  she,  not 
explainin'.  While  I  was  thinkin'  this  over,  they 
changes  the  fillum.  '  Do  ye  like  Charley  Chap 
lin?  '  says  I,  seein'  it  was  him  comin'.  '  I  like 
the  other  kind  better  than  Charley,'  says  she, 
laughin'.  '  What  other  kind?  '  says  I.  *  Do  you 
mean  his  brother?  '  She  give  me  a  long  look. 
'  I  didn't  know  he  had  wan,'  says  she.  '  Oh, 
yes,'  says  I.  *  He's  very  funny,  too!  '  '  There's 


A  Pair  of  Queens  187 

those  that's  funnier  than  ayther  av  them/  says 
she,  *  an'  thicker,  but  they  don't  draw  down  no 
salary  fer  it.'  I  had  a  feelin'  that  I  was  out 
over  me  head,  and  wasn't  makin'  no  progress 
wit'  her;  an'  I  set  still  watchin'  the  pitcher  fer 
an  openin'  an'  thinkin'.  But  none  come,  an'  I 
was  that  discouraged.  Whin  we  got  home  on  the 
steps,  —  she  never  said  nothin'  all  the  way  —  she 
kind  o'  sighed  like,  an'  says,  l  'T  is  turrible  lone 
some  I  am  since  Mame  got  married,  an'  me  livin' 
all  alone.'  An'  I  says,  '  Why  don't  ye  have  wan 
av  the  gurls  at  the  store  come  an'  room  wit  ye?  ' 
I  says.  An'  wit'  that,  she  fetches  me  a  wallop 
in  the  brains  that  made  me  dizzy,  an'  I  clinched 
wit'  her  till  me  head  cleared.  An'  whin  the  side 
walk  stopped  spinnin',  there  I  was  wit'  me  arms 
around  her,  an'  she  a-cryin'  agin'  me  shirt-front! 
An'  me  that  embarrassed  at  the  bouldness  of  me 
standin'  there  wit'  me  arms  round  her!  Ye  see, 
I  was  only  clinchin'  to  kape  her  from  landin'  the 
right  agin,  an'  meanin'  nothin'  wrong!  But 
bein'  in  that  position,  mebbe  the  wallop  give  me 
nerve,  mebbe,  an'  I  says  to  her,  —  I  says " 

11  Never  mind  what  it  was  you  says,"  said 
Hennessy,  "  ain't  you  the  naughty  thing,  you 
audacious  Dan  Jewan,  you!  Young  Lochinvar 
had  nothin'  on  you!  'T  is  a  gift  to  have  nerve 
loike  that  wit'  wimmen!  " 

And  it  wasn't  long  before  Sadie  and  Aloyisius 


188          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

came  to  live  in  the  same  Harlem  flat,  just  under 
neath  Mike  and  Mame;  where  confidences  could 
be  exchanged  down  the  dumb-waiter,  and  the 
clothes  hung  out  on  the  same  roof.  Where  the 
two  families  could  sit  on  the  front  steps,  on  fine 
evenings,  in  various  stages  of  deshabille,  and 
take  turns  going  with  the  can  over  to  "  the 
Dutchman  's." 

And  0,  Retributive  Justice!  — "  Who  do  ye 
think  moved  into  the  flat  today?  "  said  Mame, 
as  they  all  sat  there  one  evening.  "  Was  it 
T'edore  Bosenfelt,  I  dunno?  "  said  Hennessy, 
indifferently. 

"  Like  't  was  Willum  Jennings  Bryant, 
mebbe?  "  said  Hooligan  between  puffs  of  his 
pipe,  as  he  reached  for  the  empty  can. 

"  Nayther  av  'em  —  bad  luck  to  ye!  ye  have 
me  talkin'  like  ye!  "  said  Mame.  "  'T  was  none 
other  than  that  Francis  X.  Williams  guy  down 
at  the  store!  He  fell  fer  that  little  Mazie  girl 
in  *  The  Ladies'  Hose.'  The  same  dude  that 
used  to  fine  us  every  time  he  looked  at  us!  " 

Hooligan  and  Hennessy  sat  up  as  one  man, 
and  started  to  roll  up  their  sleeves.  "  What 
flure?  "  said  Hennessy. 


INDISCRETION 

Produced  by  The  Vitagraph  Company  of  America. 
Featuring  LILLIAN  WALKER. 
Directed  by  Wilfrid  North. 

Old  Marcellus  Holloway  had  been  a  widower 
for  more  than  fifteen  years.  A  man  of  great 
wealth,  he  had  buried  himself  among  his  books 
in  his  great  library,  taking  little  heed  of  other 
things,  and  had  allowed  his  only  child,  Penelope, 
to  bring  herself  up.  Taking  it  "  by  and  large," 
Penelope  had  made  a  very  fair  job  of  it,  and  at 
eighteen,  she  was  lithe  and  strong  and  beautiful. 
Her  horizon  had  been  bounded  by  her  father  *s 
vast  estate  and  the  countryside  about  it,  through 
which  she  rode  her  horses  and  drove  her  auto 
mobiles,  often  to  the  consternation  of  the  inhabi 
tants.  Her  intimates,  outside  of  her  father,  were 
horses  and  dogs  and  the  books  that  her  unre 
strained  and  undirected  fancy  chose. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  the  books  were  always 
those  which  a  careful  mentor  would  have  selected 

189 


190          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

for  her,  and  there  were  wide  gaps  in  her  educa 
tion.  She  had  read  much  of  history  and  myth 
ology  and  the  romances,  and  had  puzzled  her 
head  over  some  philosophy  and  "  advanced 
thought  "  and  Socialistic  doctrine;  but  she  had 
never  read  a  "  best  seller." 

And  if  you  had  asked  her,  she  probably  would 
have  told  you  that  Brooklyn  was  the  capital  of 
St.  Louis,  and  that  she  hadn't  any  idea  at  all 
what  1/2  of  %  of  16  was.  It  was  inevitable, 
under  conditions  like  these,  that  Penelope  grew 
up  exceedingly  courageous  and  self-reliant,  and 
also  self-willed  and  independent,  and  with  an 
utter  disregard  for  the  restraints  of  convention. 

The  one  intimate  friend  of  the  family  was  old 
Dr.  Mclntosh,  a  fussy,  explosive,  irascible,  kind- 
hearted  Scotchman,  who  had  been  the  village 
physician  for  more  than  forty  years,  and  who 
had  been  present  at  the  birth  of  almost  every 
body  in  the  village,  including  Penelope;  and  who 
dropped  in  almost  daily  to  scold  Holloway  about 
his  sedentary  life  among  his  books,  and,  inci 
dentally,  to  have  a  "  drop  of  Scotch  "  and  a 
pipe  while  he  wras  doing  it. 

He  drove  up  to  the  door  in  his  ramshackle 
buggy,  alighted,  leaving  the  ancient  horse  to  his 
own  devices,  and  bustled  into  the  library.  He 
found  Holloway,  as  usual,  poring  over  several 
books  at  once;  and  before  he  took  the  cordially 


Indiscretion  191 

proffered  hand,  lie  sniffed  the  air  disgustedly 
and  opened  all  the  windows,  allowing  the  enter 
ing  breeze  to  blow  Holloway 's  papers  to  all  cor 
ners  of  the  room.  Then  he  proceeded  to  the 
lecture,  shaking  a  warning  finger  at  Holloway, 
who  interrupted  to  call  the  Doctor's  attention  to 
the  fact  that  the  butler  was  waiting.  The  Doc 
tor  looked  at  the  butler  and  smiled.  The  old 
butler  also  smiled,  and  went  out,  soon  returning 
with  a  tray  filled  with  glasses  and  "  the  ingre 
dients,"  and  the  two  old  men  settled  back  over 
their  toddy  for  a  comfortable  talk. 

Penelope  came  into  the  stable-yard  riding  upon 
one  of  the  horses  that  drew  the  farm  wagon, 
holding  a  kicking  rabbit  by  the  ears.  She  slid 
off  the  horse  and  held  the  rabbit  high  out  of  the 
reach  of  several  of  the  dogs  that  leaped  for  it; 
finally  beating  them  off,  and  handing  the  rabbit 
to  a  groom,  when  she  saw  that  the  Doctor's 
"  rig  "  was  at  the  door.  She  opened  the  door 
of  the  library  and  came  in  softly  and  unnoticed 
by  the  Doctor,  just  as  he  was  telling  Holloway 
that  he  must  get  out  of  doors,  pounding  his  own 
rugged  chest  as  an  example,  and  making  Hollo- 
way  stick  out  his  tongue.  Then  he  saw  Pene 
lope,  who  ran  to  him  and  kissed  him,  to  his  great 
satisfaction,  and  sat  on  the  arm  of  his  chair, 
while  he  pointed  to  her  as  another  example  of 
outdoor  life.  Then  he  made  Penelope  stick  out 


192          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

her  tongue,  as  an  exhibit  of  her  health,  and  said 
it  was  a  very  good  tongue  indeed. 

Penelope  took  a  sip  from  her  father's  glass, 
and  the  Doctor  had  a  fit  about  it,  saying  that  it 
wasn't  a  thing  that  young  girls  should  do.  And 
though  she  didn't  like  the  taste  of  it,  the  Doctor 
couldn't  convince  her  that  there  was  anything 
really  wrong  about  it  for  her,  if  it  wasn't  wrong 
for  him.  So,  after  a  good  deal  of  bluster,  the 
Doctor  said  he  must  be  going,  again  telling  Hol- 
loway  that  he  must  get  out  of  doors. 

The  next  day,  Penelope  took  matters  in  her 
own  hands  and  came  into  the  library  with  two 
fishing  rods  and  the  appropriate  paraphernalia, 
and  insisted  that  her  father  follow  the  Doctor's 
orders  and  go  fishing  with  her.  He  tried  vainly 
to  beg  off,  but  she  was  insistent;  and  with  a  sigh 
of  resignation,  he  tucked  a  big  book  under  his 
arm  and  started.  Penelope  promptly  took  the 
book  away  from  him;  but  he  slyly  put  a  smaller 
one  into  his  pocket,  and  they  went.  As  they 
went  through  the  woods,  Penelope  managed  to 
pick  his  pocket  of  the  book,  and  it  wasn't  until 
he  put  a  stone  on  his  pole  and  then  sat  down 
on  the  stone,  Penelope  having  gone  further  up 
the  stream,  that  he  felt  for  the  book  and  smiled 
as  he  found  it  gone. 

Penelope  had  trouble  with  her  line,  and 
promptly  took  off  her  shoes  and  stockings  and 


Indiscretion  193 

waded  in  to  free  it,  and  when  she  came  back  to 
her  father,  there  was  a  fish  on  his  hook  making 
quite  a  fuss  in  the  water,  to  which  Holloway  was 
blissfully  unconscious,  being  deep  in  a  calcula 
tion  upon  some  notes  he  had  in  his  pocket.  Pene 
lope  landed  the  fish,  and  stood  bare-footed  as 
she  told  him  what  a  poor  fisherman  he  was. 

Just  then,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Peabody,  the  pas 
tor  of  the  village  church,  came  upon  them,  in  the 
midst  of  his  quiet  and  meditative  walk.  He 
looked  at  the  pair  and  mildly  inquired  if  they 
had  forgotten  that  today  was  Sunday.  Holloway 
was  greatly  disturbed,  and  insisted  that  they  had 
forgotten  and  that  they  would  walk  back  with 
the  parson.  And  down  the  highway  they  went, 
the  bare-footed  Penelope  trudging  along  behind, 
still  carrying  the  fish,  and  making  faces  at  the 
parson,  thus  affording  the  passers-by  another 
excellent  opportunity  to  say  something  else 
about  "  that  Holloway  girl." 

That  night,  on  the  piazza,  Penelope  thought  a 
long  time;  then  she  said,  "  Daddy,  is  there  any 
thing  really  wrong  about  catching  a  fish  on 
Sunday?  " 

Holloway  squirmed  a  little,  and  then  said,  "  I 
don't  know  that  there  is  anything  really  very 
wicked  about  it,  but  people  don't  do  it  —  it  isn't 
quite  —  er  —  conventional,  to  say  the  least." 


194          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

When  he  went  in  to  the  library,  Penelope  was 
still  thinking  about  it  with  troubled  face. 

The  village  "  censors  "  had  decided  that 
Penelope  must  be  conventionalized.  Meeting  one 
day  on  the  street,  Miss  Perkins  and  Miss  Brown 
and  Mrs.  Higbee  held  a  "  panning  bee.''  Miss 
Perkins  told  of  Penelope's  shameless  fishing 
expedition  of  the  past  Sunday;  and  Mrs.  Higbee 
told  how  her  own  husband,  Hiram  Higbee,  had 
been  at  the  "  depot  "  to  meet  three  friends  with 
his  Ford,  and  just  as  they  started  toward  home, 
Penelope  came  running  up  and  calling,  "  Hey, 
Hiram,  gimme  a  lift  to  the  house!  " 

"  An'  the  brazen  hussy  jumped  right  onto  the 
runnin'  board  and  talked  to  Hiram  an'  them 
three  other  men!  An'  Hiram  somehow  got  kind 
o'  mixed  up,  not  payin'  attention  to  the  car,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  an'  run  plum  into  a  fence 
and  busted  the  machine,  that  he'd  had  only  four 
years,  all  to  flinders!  " 

The  other  women  said  "  Land  sakes!  "  And 
as  Mr.  Peabody  and  his  wife  came  along  at  that 
moment,  Miss  Brown  spoke  right  out  and  said 
that  "  such  doin's  was  a  positive  scandal  to  the 
village,  and  she  guessed  that  Mr.  an'  Mis'  Pea- 
body  was  the  ones  to  see  the  hussy's  father  and 
see  if  she  couldn't  be  made  to  act  like  other 
folks." 


Indiscretion  195 

The  parson  and  his  wife  didn't  care  especially 
for  the  job,  but  there  seemed  no  way  out  of  it; 
and  so,  later,  they  stood  at  the  door  of  the 
Holloway  house,  and  looked  at  each  other,  won 
dering  what  they  were  going  to  say.  Mr.  Hollo- 
way  received  them  courteously,  for  he  knew  their 
intentions  were  good;  and  after  they  had  opened 
up  the  subject,  he  sent  the  butler  for  Penelope. 
She  was  just  mounting  her  horse,  and  came 
reluctantly  into  the  library,  clad  in  a  tight  fitting 
riding  suit  that  showed  off  her  figure  to  advan 
tage.  Mrs.  Peabody  gasped  a  little  when  she 
saw  it,  but  being  partly  human,  she  wasn't  really 
much  pained  or  horrified.  Penelope  looked  from 
one  to  the  other,  as  though  inquiring  what  it  was 
all  about;  and  just  as  her  father  was  clearing 
his  throat  to  begin,  she  saw  the  groom  jerking 
the  bridle  of  her  horse  impatiently.  Penelope 
vaulted  out  of  the  low  window  and  gave  the 
groom  a  lecture  on  how  not  to  handle  horses. 
And  then,  even  while  the  Peabodys  looked  from 
the  window  in  approbation  of  what  she  had  done, 
she  mounted  her  horse  and  galloped  away.  Hol 
loway  looked  at  the  Peabodys  in  a  helpless, 
"  what-can-you-do-with-a-girl-like-that  "  manner. 
Mrs.  Peabody  and  her  husband  laughed,  and 
suggested  that  it  might  be  better  to  have  Pene 
lope  accompanied  on  her  rides  about  the  country 
by  a  groom,  or  somebody ;  it  was  safer  and  more 


196          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

conventional.  And  that  it  might  be  well  to  send 
Penelope  to  a  good  school,  "  where  she  would 
associate  only  with  refined  girls  of  the  best 
families." 

To  all  of  these  things  Mr.  Hollo  way  gave  heed, 
and  said  he  would  see  what  could  be  done.  In 
pursuance  of  this  promise,  Mrs.  Travers,  who 
lived  within  motoring  distance  of  the  Holloway 
home,  in  due  time  got  a  letter  from  Marcellus 
Holloway  asking  that  she  run  down  for  the  week 
end  for  a  consultation,  as  she  had  been  an  old 
friend  of  Penelope's  mother,  and  had  a  daughter 
herself.  Mrs.  Travers  called  together  Jimmy, 
her  son,  who  was  a  lawyer,  and  a  rather  grave 
and  correct  young  man,  and  her  daughter  Mar 
gery.  She  showed  them  the  letter,  and  Jimmy 
offered  to  drive  her  to  the  Holloways  the  fol 
lowing  day. 

When  Penelope  started  on  her  afternoon  ride, 
a  groom  accompanied  her. 

"  What's  this!  "  asked  she. 

"  Mr.  Holloway 's  orders,  Miss,"  said  the 
groom. 

"  Nothing  doing,"  said  Penelope. 

But  her  father  appeared  on  the  scene  and 
insisted,  and  Penelope  and  the  groom  started 
away  together,  though  there  was  a  look  on  Pene 
lope's  face  that  didn't  make  the  groom  feel  any 
too  comfortable.  At  the  top  of  a  steep  embank- 


Indiscretion  197 

ment  over  the  lake,  Penelope,  who  was  walking 
and  leading  her  horse,  dropped  her  hankerchief ; 
and  as  the  groom  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  she  gave 
him  a  vigorous  shove  with  her  foot  that  sent  him 
rolling  to  the  bottom  and  into  the  lake.  Then 
Penelope  hit  his  horse  a  cut,  and  mounting  her 
own,  rode  away  laughing  —  and  to  all  of  this, 
Mrs.  Travers  and  Jimmy  had  been  witnesses  as 
he  brought  the  car  to  a  halt  to  inquire  the  way. 

The  groom  scrambled  up  the  bank,  and  to  their 
inquiry,  told  them  that  the  Holloway  place  was 
about  a  mile  beyond,  and  that  it  was  Miss  Hollo- 
way  who  had  just  ridden  away. 

Mrs.  Travers  and  Jimmy  were  about  equally 
interested,  but  for  different  reasons.  They 
looked  at  each  other,  and  Jimmy  sent  the  car 
along,  and  the  groom  began  a  chase  for  his  horse. 

In  the  library,  Mrs.  Travers  and  Mr.  Holloway 
talked,  and  Jimmy  was  absent-mindedly  looking 
out  of  the  window.  He  had  had  a  glimpse  of 
Penelope,  and  he  very  much  wanted  another. 
She  came,  finally,  and  in  a  moment,  she  and 
Jimmy  were  deep  in  conversation,  a  little  apart 
from  the  others.  Finally,  Penelope  took  him  by 
the  hand  and  led  him  out  into  the  grounds.  So 
that  by  the  time  it  was  decided  that  Penelope 
should  go  to  a  very  select  school  with  Margery 
Travers,  and  they  looked  around  to  ask  her  how; 


198  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

she  liked  the  arrangement,  neither  Penelope  nor 
Jimmy  was  in  sight. 

In  the  next  three  days,  Penelope  and  Jimmy 
had  what  she  described  as  a  "  ripping"  tune; 
and  when  it  came  time  to  go,  she  went  up  to 
Jimmy  and  put  her  arm  about  his  shoulder  in 
a  most  "  pally  "  way,  and  suggested  that  Jimmy 
stay  that  the  good  time  might  continue!  The 
situation  was  relieved  by  everybody,  including 
the  old  and  privileged  butler,  laughing:  and 
Jimmy  disengaged  himself  as  gracefully  as  he 
could,  and  drove  away  with  his  mother,  leaving 
Penelope  waving  from  the  piazza,  and  genuinely 
sorry  that  he  was  gone.  "  Unconventional  is 
putting  it  mildly,"  thought  Mrs.  Travers. 

And  so,  in  due  time,  the  two  girls,  Penelope 
and  Margery,  were  installed  as  room-mates  at 
Briarwood  School,  and  took  up  their  duties  and 
routine. 

Of  course,  Penelope  got  into  all  kinds  of 
trouble  by  her  ingenuous  unconventionally. 
Almost  the  first  day,  when  the  girls,  a  teacher 
at  their  head,  took  their  two-by-two  walk  in  the 
town,  Penelope  saw  a  young  man  having  trouble 
with  his  car,  seemingly  unable  to  fix  it.  She  left 
the  file  of  girls,  unobserved  by  the  teacher,  and 
in  a  few  moments,  she  had  the  engine  going,  and 
had  accepted  an  invitation  from  the  young  man 


Indiscretion  199 

to  drive  her  back  to  the  school.  As  she  drove 
past  the  file  of  girls,  the  teacher  saw  her,  and 
there  was  a  great  time  over  it;  but  as  usual, 
Penelope  couldn't  see  that  she  had  done  any 
thing  actually  wrong. 

"  Perhaps/'  said  the  principal,  "  there  is 
nothing  inherently  wrong  or  wicked  in  what  you 
did;  but  society  makes  certain  rules,  called 
conventions,  which  apply  chiefly  to  women,  and 
those  who  disregard  those  conventions,  suffer  in 
the  opinion  of  society. " 

A  few  evenings  afterward,  "  the  refined  girls 
from  the  best  families  "  gave  Penelope  and  Mar 
gery  a  "  house-warming "  at  midnight,  with 
chafing-dish  and  cigarettes.  The  principal 
dropped  in,  unexpected  and  uninvited.  And 
all  the  girls  but  Penelope  threw  away  their 
cigarettes  cleverly.  Penelope  stuck  to  her's. 
She  couldn't  see  why,  if  her  father  could  smoke 
all  day  long,  there  was  anything  wrong  about  it. 
Then  there  was  more  advice  about  conventions. 
Penelope's  attitude  was  not  one  of  impudent 
defiance  of  rules ;  there  was  a  genuine  frankness 
about  it  all  that  gave  weight  to  her  contentions, 
sophistical  though  they  were,  and  she  was  not  by 
any  means  in  disfavor. 

Then  came  the  blow.  Penelope  was  at  basket 
ball  on  the  campus,  when  the  principal  came 
with  the  yellow  envelope.  In  it  was  a  message 


200          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

from  Duncan  Mclntosh,  which  said  that  her 
father  was  very  seriously  ill  and  that  she  must 
come  at  once. 

The  home-coming  was  a  sad  one.  The  old 
Doctor  met  her  on  the  step,  and  took  her  into 
his  arms,  and  she  read  the  news  in  his  face. 
She  tore  herself  away  and  rushed  into  the  dark 
ened  room  and  flung  herself  on  her  knees  at  the 
bedside  of  the  dead  man.  The  old  butler  and 
the  Doctor  came  softly  in  and  stood  by  her  as 
she  sobbed  on  her  father's  breast;  then,  brushing 
the  tears  from  their  own  eyes,  they  went  softly 
out  again.  .  .  . 

For  almost  a  year,  Penelope  hid  herself  from 
her  friends,  refusing  to  return  to  the  school,  and 
seeing  no  one  but  the  old  Doctor,  who  was  now 
her  guardian.  Even  Mrs.  Travers  and  Margery, 
who  drove  down  to  see  her,  were  refused  admit 
tance,  and  went  away,  after  seeing  Dr.  Mcln 
tosh;  not  at  all  angry,  but  sorry  for  the  poor, 
lonesome  little  soul  that  was  grieving  her  heart 
out  in  the  big  library. 

They  went  home  and  told  Jimmy  Travers  all 
about  it;  and  Jimmy  resolved  to  do  a  little  res 
cuing  on  his  own  account. 

She  was  in  the  library  pouring  over  "  The 
Equality  of  the  Sexes "  and  "  Advanced 
(Thought  for  Women  "  and  such. 

"  Ye    must    get    away    from    such    books    as 


Indiscretion  201 

these/'  the  old  Doctor  had  said.  "  They're  all 
written  by  long-haired  men  and  short-haired 
women,  and  they're  not  for  right-livin'  folk. 
Why  don't  ye  go  visit  Mrs.  Travers,  now?  " 

But  Penelope  shook  her  head,  and  the  Doctor 
went  away  shaking  his,  too. 

Jimmy  came  to  the  front  door  and  presented 
his  card.  The  old  butler  told  him  it  was  very 
doubtful  if  Penelope  would  see  him,  but  that  he 
would  present  the  card.  Jimmy  slipped  around 
to  the  side  of  the  house  and  looked  into  the 
library  window.  Penelope  stood  with  his  card 
in  her  hand  and  there  was  a  smile  on  her  face 
as  she  pondered.  Then  she  shook  her  head  to 
the  butler,  but  Jimmy  jumped  in  by  way  of  the 
window,  and  she  was  so  glad  to  see  him  that  she 
kissed  him! 

The  Doctor  dropped  in  shortly  afterward,  and 
the  butler  told  him  with  gladness  in  his  voice, 
that  Penelope  and  Jimmy  were  out  in  the 
grounds,  and  the  Doctor  said,  "  God  be 
praised!  "  He  strolled  out  to  find  them  and 
came  upon  them  deeply  interested  in  each  other. 
Jimmy  told  him  that  he  had  come  to  invite  her 
down  to  visit  his  mother  and  the  Doctor  urged 
her  to  go.  She  was  reluctant  and  offered  as  a 
substitute  motion  —  "  I  have  it!  Instead  of  my 
visiting  Jimmy's  mother,  why  can't  Jimmy  stay 
here  with  me!  " 


202          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

"  May  the  good  Lord  give  ye  sense, "  said  the 
Doctor.  '  '  I  came  to  see  ye  on  business  —  ye 
have  so  much  money  'tis  sinful  —  but  I'm  afeart 
yer  advice  wouldn't  be  worth  much.  Pack  up 
and  go  and  stay  with  Jimmy's  mother  for  a  while 
—  't  is  a  mother  yer  needin'." 

And  so  it  was  settled,  and  Penelope  took  up 
life  among  new  surroundings  and  new  faces  in 
the  Travers  home.  Of  course,  they  brought  her 
out  of  herself.  Of  course,  there  wrere  new  gowns 
and  fixings,  and  of  course  there  was  a  coming- 
out  party. 

To  this  party,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Reginald  Rivers 
were  invited  and  they  accepted.  To  be  frank, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Reginald  Rivers  got  along  about 
like  two  cats  drowning  in  a  bag,  hating  each 
other  with  great  cordiality.  The  main  cause  of 
this  discord  was  the  conduct  of  Mr.  Rivers 
toward  other  women.  He  was  a  shameless  roue, 
and  everything  was  fish  that  came  to  his  net. 

And  the  minute  he  laid  his  eyes  on  Penelope, 
he  broke  the  tenth  commandment  into  little  bits 
(and  laid  deep  and  crafty  plans  as  to  how  he 
could  break  —  others).  In  a  few  minutes,  he 
had  appropriated  Penelope,  and  he  bore  her  off 
under  the  very  noses  of  Jimmy  and  Mrs.  Rivers. 
Soon  they  were  talking  books  in  a  secluded  nook 
in  the  conservatory,  and  he  was  agreeing 
heartily  with  her  when  she  said  that  women 


Indiscretion  203 

were  too  closeiy  bound  by  conventions  and  should 
have  more  freedom  of  action.  Jimmy  came  and 
asked  for  a  dance,  and  Penelope  refused,  saying 
she  was  too  much  interested  in  the  book- talk; 
and  Mr.  Eivers  uncovered  a  sneering  smile  at 
Jimmy's  discomfiture. 

Mrs.  Eivers  wasn't  any  too  pleased,  either; 
for  though  she  hated  her  husband,  she  didn't 
care  for  that  kind  of  humiliation  before  her 
friends  and  neighbors.  And  more  than  once, 
Jimmy  and  Mrs.  Eivers  bumped  into  each  other 
as  they  moved  among  the  dancers,  and  tried  to 
keep  an  eye  on  the  couple  in  the  nook. 

Eivers  monopolized  Penelope  during  the  even 
ing;  and  going  home  in  the  cab,  he  got  as  fine 
a  little  laying-out  from  his  wife  as  falls  to  the 
lot  of  most  men.  But  he  only  laughed  at  her, 
and  this  didn't  make  her  feel  any  better  about 
the  matter.  And  when  he  went  up  the  stairs, 
she  stood  in  the  library  a  long  time,  tapping  her 
foot  and  biting  her  lip,  —  which  actions,  keen 
observers  say,  are  sure  danger  signals. 

Jimmy,  when  the  guests  had  all  gone,  detained 
Penelope  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  made  her 
a  proposal  of  marriage  —  flat.  Penelope  was 
astonished,  and  was  inclined  to  take  the  matter 
as  a  joke.  She  jerked  her  hand  away  and  ran 
up  the  stairs,  stopping  half  way  to  look  back  at 
him  and  laugh.  Then  she  darted  into  her  room 


204          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

and  shut  the  door  quickly,  and  stood  with  her 
back  against  it  for  a  few  moments,  thinking 
hard,  with  heaving  breast.  Jimmy  still  stood  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  shaking  his  head  in 
perplexity. 

This  was  only  the  beginning  of  Penelope's 
"  scandalous  "  conduct  with  Eivers.  She  flirted 
openly  with  him  at  the  golf  club;  and  it  wasn't 
long  before  the  gossips  got  busy  and  whispered, 
"  They  say  .  .  ." 

Jimmy  got  so  fussed,  when  she  had  a  highball 
at  Eivers'  table  on  the  piazza,  that  he  went  out 
and  teed  up  a  ball,  took  a  wallop  at  it,  missing 
it  entirely,  and  smashing  his  driver  into  bits. 
He  flung  the  fragments  away,  and  went  back  to 
the  club.  On  the  way,  he  met  Mrs.  Eivers,  and 
they  joined  forces.  They  went  to  the  table  and 
sat.  Mrs.  Eivers  was  inclined  to  be  very 
"  offish  "  with  Penelope,  but  the  girl's  frank  and 
ingenuous  manner  totally  disarmed  her,  and  she 
saw  that  the  fault  was,  in  all  probability,  her 
husband's,  and  that  Penelope  really  thought 
nothing  about  how  her  intimacy  with  him  looked. 
Jimmy  sought  to  moralize  with  Penelope,  and 
only  succeeded  in  stirring  up  a  fuss. 

"  Is  it  any  crime  to  speak  to  a  married  man?  " 
she  said,  when  Jimmy  told  her  that  she  must 
know  that  Eivers  was  married.  And  when  they 
came  into  the  hall,  instead  of  stopping  at  the 


Indiscretion  205 

foot  of  the  stairs,  Penelope  marched  straight  up 
to  her  room;  and  Jimmy  went  the  other  way, 
sorry  that  he  had  said  anything  and  more  per 
plexed  than  ever.  Penelope,  in  the  conscious 
rectitude  of  having  done  nothing  wrong,  couldn't 
see  why  people  should  have  such  narrow  views 
about  things  which  were  really  none  of  their 
business. 

Several  evenings  of  foot-tapping  and  lip-bit 
ing  had  brought  Mrs.  Rivers  to  a  determination. 
She  had  an  interview  with  a  large  and  flat- 
footed  "  gent/'  surnamed  Harrigan,  whose  card 
bore  the  legend  "  Private  Detective.  Evidence 
obtained  in  divorce  cases. "  And  after  a  suit 
able  fee  had  been  accepted,  Mr.  Harrigan  agreed 
to  keep  an  eye,  or,  in  fact,  several  eyes,  on  Mr. 
Rivers;  and  this  he  proceeded  to  do  with  effi 
ciency.  He  planted  two  men  in  the  golf  club, 
one  as  a  waiter  and  the  other  as  a  playing  guest, 
having  made  a  little  private  arrangement  with 
the  steward  —  aiid  Harrigan  looked  after  mat 
ters  on  the  outside. 

At  an  "  affair "  at  the  club,  one  evening, 
Rivers  and  Penelope  left  off  dancing  and  came 
to  a  table  for  refreshment.  It  was  getting  late 
and  many  of  the  guests  were  leaving.  Harri 
gan 's  man  —  the  waiter  —  was  serving. 

Rivers  said,  so  that  the  waiter  could  hear  it, 
though  he  didn't  intend  that  he  should,  "  We 


206          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

are  all  going  up  to  the  road  house  for  a  little 
supper.  Let  us  go  ahead;  the  others  will  join 
us  in  a  short  time.' 

Penelope  demurred  at  first,  but  finally  con 
sented,  and  by  the  time  Rivers  had  adjusted  her 
wraps,  and  had  her  in  his  car,  the  waiter,  the 
playing  guest,  and  Harrigan  were  hustling  into 
another  car  to  follow. 

Jimmy,  too,  had  seen  them  as  they  drove 
away,  and  not  liking  the  looks  of  things,  got  his 
car  and  followed.  They  all  would  have  been 
close  behind  Rivers  and  Penelope,  but  for  the 
fact  that  Harrigan  had  engine  trouble,  and  had 
to  stop.  Jimmy  overtook  the  detectives,  and 
they  explained  that  they  were  following  a  couple 
that  had  just  left  the  club,  and  asked  if  Jimmy 
would  help  them  out.  And  as  Jimmy  was  doing 
the  self-same  thing,  he  agreed,  and  they  drove 
away  together. 

Rivers  and  Penelope  alighted  at  the  road 
house,  and  in  a  moment  they  were  shown  into 
a  room.  It  didn't  look  much  like  a  place  where 
a  party  was  going  to  have  supper,  and  Penelope 
said  so.  Rivers  laughed  and  took  off  the  mask. 
He  said  that  the  party  was  going  to  consist  of 
themselves  only;  and  he  attempted  certain  little 
familiarities  with  the  now  frightened  girl. 

She  objected,  strenuously. 

"  Oh  come,"  said  Rivers,  "  what  makes  you 


Indiscretion  207 

so  finicky  tonight?  Any  girl  that  is  as  free  and 
easy  as  you,  needn't  pretend  innocence  to  me. 
Give  me  a  kiss  and  don't  make  such  a  fuss!  ' 

But  Penelope  did  make  quite  a  fuss,  and  in 
the  struggle,  her  dress  was  torn  from  her  shoul 
ders,  and  Eivers  choked  her  until  she  lost  con 
sciousness.  Then  he  picked  her  up  and  carried 
her  into  the  next  room  and  laid  her  on  the  bed. 

Just  about  this  time,  Harrigan  and  Jimmy  and 
the  others  broke  in,  and  there  was  apparently 
all  the  evidence  that  was  necessary.  The  detec 
tives  took  a  good  look  at  him  and  at  her,  and 
that  ended  their  business  there.  But  it  didn't  end 
Jimmy's.  He  lit  into  Mr.  Rivers,  and  when  he 
got  through,  there  wasn't  much  left  of  the  fur 
niture,  or  of  Mr.  Eivers,  either;  and  he  was  glad 
enough,  when  they  had  pried  Jimmy  loose  from 
him,  to  sneak  out  of  the  room,  and  out  of  the 
story. 

Penelope  had  recovered  consciousness  during 
the  fight,  and  she  watched  the  battle  with  ago 
nized  eyes.  Too  late,  she  had  realized  that  Jimmy 
had  spoken  the  truth  when  he  had  told  her  that 
"  a  woman  must  not  only  avoid  doing  evil,  but 
she  must  avoid  even  the  appearance  of  doing 
evil."  When  the  fight  was  over,  she  ran  to 
Jimmy  and  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck  and 
sobbed  on  his  breast;  but  Jimmy  was  not  at  all 
responsive;  he  disengaged  her  arms  gently,  and 


208          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

then  put  her  wraps  over  her,  and  led  her  from 
the  house. 

At  the  Travers  home,  Mrs.  Travers  and  Mar 
gery  were  anxiously  awaiting  them,  for  they  had 
got  wind  of  the  affair,  though  nothing  definite. 
Jimmy  came  in,  grim  and  silent,  and  the  penitent 
Penelope  followed  after  him.  She  rushed  to 
Mrs.  Travers  to  explain  that  she  "  had  done 
nothing  wrong/'  but  that  lady  was  decidedly 
chilly  toward  her,  and  Margery  was  summarily 
sent  out.  Jimmy  started  up  the  stairs ;  Penelope 
called  after  him  appealingly;  he  stopped,  looked 
at  her  for  a  moment,  then  turned  and  went  on. 
Mrs.  Travers  asked  one  or  two  sharp  questions, 
and  then  she,  too,  went  out.  And  Penelope  was 
left,  leaning  against  the  newel  post,  weeping  and 
broken-hearted. 

Of  course,  there  was  only  one  thing  for  Pene 
lope  to  do  —  leave  the  Travers  and  go  to  her 
own  home.  Too  late,  she  realized  that  the  Walls 
of  Convention  have  very  valiant  and  watchful 
defenders. 

Next  day,  she  was  all  packed  and  ready  to  go, 
when  the  butler  entered  and  said  that  a  gentle 
man  waited  to  see  her  in  the  hall;  and  she  came 
down  the  stairs,  dressed  for  traveling,  and  won 
dering  who  it  could  be.  A  man  asked  her  if  she 
was  Miss  Holloway,  and  on  being  informed  that 
she  was,  handed  her  a  formidable  looking  paper. 


Indiscretion  209 

Jimmy,  who  happened  to  be  crossing  the  hall, 
saw  it  and  took  it  from  her,  and  read  it.  She 
looked  her  inquiry,  and  he  said,  taking  a  long 
time  about  it,  that  it  was  a  complaint  in  the 
action  for  divorce  of  Rivers  vs.  Rivers,  and  that 
Mrs.  Rivers  had  named  her,  among  several  other 
women,  as  corespondent. 

This  was  the  last  straw,  and  Mrs.  Travers 
heard  her  pitiful  cry  of  protest  and  came.  Well 
Jimmy  and  his  mother  knew  that  this  was 
unwarranted,  and  there  came  over  them  that 
revulsion  of  feeling,  that  reaction  which  we  feel 
when  we  know  that  gross  injustice  is  being  done, 
even  to  one  who  is  not  entitled  to  our  sympathy. 
And  Mrs.  Travers  folded  the  poor  motherless 
girl  in  her  arms,  took  off  her  hat  and  coat, 
motioned  to  Jimmy  to  go  away,  and  led  Penelope 
up  the  stairs,  telling  her  that  they  would  stand 
by  her  to  the  last  ditch  in  any  such  matter  as 
that. 

That  night,  while  Jimmy  studied  late  over  the 
papers  and  formulated  plans,  Penelope  stole  out 
of  the  house  and  went  straight  to  Mrs.  Rivers. 
The  butler  told  Penelope  that  Mrs.  Rivers  could 
not  see  her,  but  Penelope  brushed  by  him  and 
into  the  library,  and  the  two  women  confronted 
each  other.  And  then,  Penelope  told  her  simple 
story  —  the  story  of  her  bringing  up;  how  her 
friends  had  always  been  men  and  dogs  and  books 


210          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

—  and  of  her  escapade  with  Rivers.  She  didn't 
try  to  hide  anything,  or  gloss  it  over,  and  she 
didn't  grovel;  but  she  did  ask  that  Mrs.  Eivers 
forego  this  hideous  charge,  in  which  there  was 
no  truth,  and  which  would  ruin  her  life. 

And  Mrs.  Eivers  knew  that  she  had  made  a 
mistake.  She  took  her  back  to  the  Travers  home 
and  delivered  her.  They  had  noted  her  absence, 
and  Jimmy  was  about  to  start  out  to  find  her, 
fearing  many  things.  In  the  hall,  at  the  foot  of 
the  stair  she  and  Jimmy  stood  again,  for  Mrs. 
Rivers  and  Mrs.  Travers  had  moved  away  as 
they  talked.  Jimmy  spoke  to  her,  and  there  was 
something  in  his  voice  that  made  her  drop  her 
eyes,  and  she  did  not  move.  Jimmy  spoke  again 
and  held  out  his  arms,  but  she  did  not  see  them. 
Then  he  spoke  sternly,  and  she  lifted  her  eyes 
and  they  met  his,  and  she  came  slowly  to  him, 
faltering. 

"  Jimmy,"  she  said,  "  do  you  think  it  is  quite 
proper  for  us  to  be  here  alone?  You  know  I  am 
going  to  be  very  careful  about  those  things  now." 


THE  PARSON  OF  PINE  MOUNTAIN 

Produced  by  The  Universal  Film  Company. 

Featuring  BEN  WILSON. 
Directed  by  Ben  Wilson. 

With  one  powerful  hand  upon  the  plough  and 
in  the  other  an  open  bible,  the  Parson  ran  the 
furrow  across  the  field,  stopping  at  intervals, 
that  he  might  better  read  and  digest  the  pages, 
and  incorporate  their  teachings  in  his  sermon 
for  the  morrow.  Down  at  the  still,  in  the  thick 
fastnesses  of  the  mountain  woods,  Old  Man 
Marvin  and  Steve  Bascombe  covered  the  fires, 
and  leaving  one  of  the  others  on  guard,  started 
home.  As  they  passed  the  field  where  the  Par 
son  was  ploughing,  he  hailed  them  and  made 
them  promise  that  they  would  come  to  meeting 
tomorrow.  They  made  the  promise  without  the 
least  idea  of  keeping  it,  and  under  their  outward 
deferential  demeanor,  it  was  plain  that  there  lay 
a  sort  of  inherent  contempt  for  this  man  of 
peace.  And  as  they  went,  Steve,  a  young  giant 
of  the  mountains,  looked  laughingly  back  at  the 

211 


212          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Parson,  with  a  derision  that  seemed  almost  a 
challenge. 

Before  the  Marvin  cabin,  Lissy  talked  to  two 
of  the  girls  of  the  neighborhood,  who,  barefooted 
and  ragged  as  she,  had  pails  of  blueberries  on 
their  arms.  Old  Man  Marvin  went  into  the 
house  with  only  the  curt  greeting  customary  in 
the  mountains;  but  Steve  stopped  to  talk  with 
the  girls,  though  it  was  patent  that  he  had  eyes 
for  no  one  but  Lissy.  And  she,  knowing  this 
full  well,  teased  him  accordingly.  She  took  some 
blueberries  in  her  white  fingers  and  holding  them 
in  front  of  his  face,  made  him  "  open  his  mouth 
and  shut  his  eyes/'  And  while  he  stood  there 
in  that  manner,  she  ate  the  blueberries  herself. 
When  Steve  realized  the  trick,  he  caught  her  and 
kissed  her  forcibly,  and  went  down  the  road 
laughing  at  her.  Lissy  pretended  to  be  terribly 
angry  and  wiped  her  mouth  with  her  hand;  but 
as  the  girls  left,  she  was  still  looking  after  Steve, 
and  her  face  was  smiling. 

On  Sunday  morning,  the  Parson  came  from 
his  cabin,  bible  in  hand,  clothed  in  the  garb  of 
the  mountain  preacher,  and  started  for  the  out 
door  meeting.  Lissy  made  her  father  wash  his 
hands  and  face  at  the  basin  on  the  bench  outside 
the  door,  and  go  with  her,  though  he  didn't  really 
want  to.  Steve  hitched  up  his  "  horse  and 
buggy,"  and  as  he  drove  over  the  rough  moun- 


The  Parson  of  Pine  Mountain  213 

tain  road  he  had  trouble  with  the  horse;  and  by 
the  time  he  overtook  the  Parson,  both  he  and 
the  horse  were  in  bad  temper.  Steve  lashed  the 
animal,  and  then  jumping  from  the  buggy,  he 
was  about  to  administer  a  most  cruel  beating  to 
it,  when  the  Parson  stayed  his  hand.  Steve 
turned  fiercely  upon  him;  "  what  business  was 
it  of  his  what  he  did  to  his  horse?  "  and  he 
brought  down  the  whip  with  a  swish  over  the 
Parson 's  shoulders. 

The  Parson  didn't  move,  and  again  Steve 
lashed  him  for  a  meddler,  contemptuous  of  the 
man  that  would  take  a  blow  unresented.  The 
Parson  opened  his  bible  evidently  intending  to 
read  a  passage  to  Steve  in  regard  to  his  conduct, 
when  Steve  knocked  the  book  from  his  hands 
into  the  dust  of  the  road. 

And  right  there,  Steve  got  one  of  the  greatest 
surprises  of  his  young  life ;  for  the  Parson  leaped 
upon  him  and  gave  him  as  artistic  a  trimming  as 
ever  a  young  hot-head  got.  When  it  was  all 
over,  he  told  Steve  to  pick  up  the  book.  Steve 
did  it,  but  with  an  ill  grace.  The  Parson  sat 
Steve  down  by  the  roadside  and  opened  the  book 
to  read  to  him. 

"  You  all  had  no  call  to  disrespect  the  bible 
thataway,  Steve,"  he  said.  "  That's  what  I  had 
to  lick  you  for.  Now  you  set  there  and  listen  to 


214          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

what  it  says  about  a  man's  bein'  merciful  to 
dumb  critters. " 

And  Steve  had  to  hear  it,  too,  though  the  Par 
son  was  obliged  to  knock  him  down  again  before 
he  was  really  willing  to  listen.  And  then  he  sat 
down  beside  the  battered  Steve,  put  his  arm 
about  his  shoulders,  and  talked  like  a  father  to 
him.  And  in  the  end,  he  and  Steve  shook  hands 
and  went  down  the  road  to  the  buggy  together, 
got  in  and  rode  to  meeting. 

In  the  open  glade,  to  the  few  people  of  the 
mountains,  the  Parson  preached  his  homely  ser 
mon,  and  made  his  earnest  prayer.  Lissy  sang, 
and  as  she  finished,  there  were  two  who  had  not 
taken  their  eyes  from  her  —  they  were  Steve  and 
the  Parson.  But  after  the  meeting,  Lissy  got 
into  Steve's  buggy  and  drove  away,  and  the 
Parson  went  home  alone,  thinking. 

That  night,  the  revenue  men  came  to  the  still 
and  grievously  wounded  one  of  the  band;  he  got 
away,  however,  and  was  soon  in  the  deep  moun 
tain  fastnesses,  cared  for  by  his  companions. 
But  they  were  not  equal  to  the  job.  After  a 
conference,  Steve,  who  was  drinking  heavily,  was 
called,  and  sent  for  Old  Man  Marvin  and  the 
Parson  —  they  had  skill  in  such  things. 

And  as  it  came  about,  Lissy  was  left  alone 
before  the  cabin  in  the  moonlight,  when  the  men 
had  gone.  Steve  turned  back  in  the  woods,  tell- 


The  Parson  of  Pine  Mountain          215 

ing  Marvin  and  the  Parson  that  he  would  take 
another  way  to  reconnoiter.  Lissy  lighted  the 
candle  in  the  rough  room  of  the  cabin,  when  she 
heard  a  noise  at  the  door;  sh§  saw  that  the  hook 
was  safe  in  the  staple,  but  she  was  frightened. 
It  was  Steve,  and  he  demanded  to  be  let  in.  She 
refused.  And  then  he  put  his  powerful  shoulder 
to  the  door,  for  he  was  deep  in  drink,  and  the 
staple  flew  from  its  hold,  and  as  Steve  stepped 
into  the  room,  Lissy  cowered  before  him. 

On  the  way  back,  when  they  had  ministered 
to  the  wounded  man,  almost  at  the  door  of  Mar 
vin's  cabin,  the  Parson  turned  to  the  old  man 
and  said,  "  Mr.  Marvin,  I  want  to  marry  Lissy, 
if  she'll  have  me.  Do  you  all  object?  " 

Marvin  assured  him  that  he  did  not  in  the 
least,  and  they  entered  the  cabin  door.  Lissy  sat 
at  the  table,  her  head  bent  upon  her  outstretched 
arms  in  the  flickering  light  of  the  candle.  The 
Parson  went  straight  to  her,  and  Marvin  looked 
at  the  broken  fastening  of  the  door.  The  Parson 
took  Lissy 's  hands  and  told  her  his  love.  She 
sank  in  a  crumpled  heap  at  his  feet.  The  Parson 
looked  from  her  to  Marvin,  and  then  to  the  open 
and  broken  door.  The  light  was  beginning  to 
dawn  upon  him. 

Old  Man  Marvin  strode  grimly  over  to  the  fire 
place  and  took  down  his  long  rifle.  But  the  Par- 


216          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

son  stayed  him.  Marvin  tried  to  wrench  away 
the  gun,  but  he  could  not. 

The  Parson  turned  to  the  sobbing  girl,  "  Lissy, 
do  you  love  Steve  Bascombe?  "  She  at  least  did 
not  deny  it.  The  Parson  nodded  to  Marvin,  and 
went  out,  his  face  set  hard.  He  caught  Steve  as 
he  rode  down  the  trail,  with  a  few  things  that  he 
had  taken  with  him  in  his  flight.  He  stopped  the 
horse  and  Steve  got  off;  he  slapped  the  horse 
after  turning  it  around,  and  it  went  back.  He 
threw  Steve's  bundle  into  the  brush  at  the  road 
side,  and  they  went  back  together;  not  a  word 
had  been  spoken.  Just  as  they  came  to  Marvin's, 
two  of  the  mountaineers  joined  them,  and  Old 
Man  Marvin  came  from  the  door  and  stood  unde 
cided  and  helpless. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  Parson's  hand,  he 
would  have  sprung  at  Steve's  throat.  The  Par 
son  smiled  and  said,  "  Lissy  and  Steve  are 
aimin'  to  get  married,  and  Steve  come  and  got 
me.  I'm  kind  o'  standin'  sponsor  for  Steve,  too. 
He 's  made  me  a  lot  of  promises  about  liquor  and 
things,  and  he's  goin'  to  keep  'em.  Ain't  you 
Steve?  " 

Steve  went  into  the  door;  Lissy  sat  with 
drooped  head.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and 
he  sprang  toward  her  and  took  her  into  his  arms. 
Outside  the  Parson  moved  a  little  away  from  the 


The  Parson  of  Pine  Mountain  217 

others ;  but  as  they  called  him,  he  steeled  himself, 
took  the  worn  bible  from  his  pocket,  and  followed 
them  in,  pausing  at  the  door  to  look  back  and  to 
square  his  shoulders,  as  men  do  when  they  are 
brave  and  go  to  certain  death. 


UNCLE  JOHN 

Produced  by  The  Universal  Film  Company. 

Featuring  ETIENNE  GIRARDOT. 

Directed  by  Lucius  Henderson. 

It  was  pretty  cold  on  the  East  Side;  coat- 
collars  were  turned  up,  and  noses  were  turned 
blue,  but  Jimmy  Moore,  age  eight,  found  that 
getting  enough  money  for  supper  for  Alice  and 
Pudge,  who  were  waiting  for  him  in  the  tene 
ment,  kept  him  warm.  It  is  tough  to  have  to 
assume  the  responsibilities  of  a  family  at  the 
age  of  eight  years,  especially  when  one  is  a 
newsboy;  but  father  Moore  hadn't  shown  up  for 
more  than  a  week  —  it  was  probable  that  he  was 
paying  one  of  his  periodical  visits  to  The  Island 
—  and  the  three  children  were  trying  to  keep  the 
little  home  together.  And  Jenks,  the  agent  for 
the  landlord,  would  be  there  for  the  rent,  and  he 
had  to  be  paid,  too.  So  it  was  a  case  of 
"  hustle  "  for  Jimmy. 

Old  John  Waldron,  many  times  a  millionaire, 
never  had  any  patience  with  charity  and  settle- 

218 


Uncle  John  219 

ment  work;  and  when  Horace,  his  only  son,  took 
it  up  with  the  fortune  left  him  by  his  mother, 
the  Old  Man  was  disgusted. 

"  The  Poor  —  Bosh!  If  a  man  is  poor,  it's 
his  own  fault.  Let  the  poor  work  or  starve!  " 

And  Horace  would  say  "  No,  it  is  work  and 
starve  with  many  of  them.  You  are  taking 
money  which  you  don't  need,  for  property  that 
you  never  saw,  from  those  who  have  to  starve 
to  give  it  to  you." 

These  discussions  got  more  and  more  acri 
monious,  until  finally,  one  day,  Waldron  ordered 
his  son  out  of  the  office.  And  Horace,  with  the 
impetuosity  of  youth,  decided  to  leave  home,  too. 
And  thus  it  was  that  John  Waldron  sat  alone  in 
his  big  library,  brooding;  and  Horace  settled 
down  in  a  modest  room,  to  help  the  poor. 

Some  days  before,  Horace  had  obtained  per 
mission  from  his  father  to  collect  the  rents  of 
one  of  his  East  Side  tenements,  that  he  might 
see  Poverty  at  first  hand.  There  he  had  met 
Helen — ("  the  nice  girl  across  the  hall  who 
paints  pictures,"  was  the  way  the  little  Moores 
described  her)  and  he  had  thought  a  great  deal 
about  her  since.  He  concluded  that  one  of  the 
best  ways  to  relieve  poverty,  was  to  encourage 
art.  So  he  sent  a  friend  to  buy  some  of  Helen's 
pictures,  which  Horace  took  off  his  hands,  of 
course,  "  merely  as  a  matter  of  philanthropy," 


220          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Horace  assured  him.  He  also  offered,  by  letter, 
to  buy  the  tenement  from  his  father. 

The  Old  Man  tore  up  the  letter  in  a  rage,  and 
then  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  go  to  see 
the  tenement  that  was  kicking  up  all  this  fuss. 
He  had  had  two  or  three  jars  lately,  and  the 
thing  got  on  his  nerves.  He  went.  As  he 
entered,  anybody  who  saw  him  would  have  con 
cluded  that  he  lived  there.  His  clothes  were  the 
prevailing  style  for  real  millionaires;  they  can 
usually  be  purchased  for  about  sixteen  dollars, 
and  are  worn  a  long  time. 

He  climbed  the  rickety  stairs  and  looked  all 
about  him;  nothing  seemed  very  remarkable. 
On  his  way  down,  he  didn't  see  the  broken  step, 
and  he  landed  in  the  hall  before  the  little  Moores' 
door,  with  a  badly  sprained  ankle,  saving  him 
self  from  breaking  his  neck  only  by  hanging  on 
to  the  banister. 

The  three  little  Moores  heard  the  fall,  and 
came  out  and  found  what  looked  to  them  like  a 
poor  old  man  in  a  peck  of  trouble.  They  helped 
him  into  their  rooms ;  and  after  they  had  admin 
istered  first  aid  to  the  injured  and  made  him  as 
comfortable  as  possible,  they  held  a  consultation. 
Here  was  a  stranger  within  their  gates  and  he 
surely  needed  some  kind  of  medicine  for  that 
ankle,  and  he  looked  as  though  a  little  food 
wouldn't  hurt  him.  Alice  emptied  the  coffee-pot 


Uncle  John  221 

of  its  pennies,  and  Jimmy  went  out  to  get  the 
stuff. 

Waldron  tried  to  hear  what  the  conspiracy  was 
all  about,  but  couldn't  quite  get  it.  "  Well  see 
what  the  Poor  will  do  for  the  Rich,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

Jimmy  returned  with  a  small  package  of  tea, 
an  orange,  and  a  bottle  of  vile-smelling  liniment. 
Jimmy  treated  his  ankle,  and  Alice  served  the 
tea  and  the  orange  on  a  box  which  she  placed 
beside  the  couch. 

"  Kindly  little  beggars, "  thought  Waldron. 
He  drank  the  tea  and  tried  to  share  the  orange; 
they  would  have  none  of  it;  it  was  all  for  him. 
And  then  Waldron  asked  when  they  were  going 
to  have  their  supper.  Before  Alice  could  stop 
her,  the  talkative  Pudge  said,  cheerfully,  "  We 
ain't  goin'  to  have  any  supper  tonight,  'cause  we 
spent  all  our  money. ' ' 

Waldron  sat  up  straight  and  looked  from  one 
to  the  other  as  he  realized  their  sacrifice.  He 
tried  to  speak,  but  somehow  he  couldn't.  And  at 
that  moment,  in  walked  two  officials  of  the 
"  Gerry  Society  "  without  knocking  and  with  an 
air  of  great  authority.  Deep  in  the  heart  of 
every  East  Side  child  is  implanted  a  fear  of 
"  The  Gerrys,"  and  the  children  instinctively 
ran  to  Waldron,  who  sat  very  straight  and 


222          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

stern,  facing  the  two  officials  with  a  look  on  his 
face  which,  when  railroad  presidents  saw  it, 
made  them  go  and  put  their  property  in  their 
wives '  names. 

11  To  what  do  I  owe  this  unwarranted  intru 
sion?  "  said  Waldron.  "  You  should  be  prose 
cuted  for  disturbing  my  family  —  I  —  I  am  their 
uncle."  And  the  two  officials  stood  not  on  the 
order  of  their  going.  As  the  children  drew  a 
sigh  of  relief  and  clung  closer  to  him,  Waldron 
put  his  arms  about  them  —  actually  he  did ! 

That  night,  Waldron  lay  upon  the  rickety 
couch  and  pondered  many  things.  He  concluded 
that  it  might  not  be  such  a  bad  thing  to  stay  a 
few  days  with  the  children,  completely  hidden 
from  the  cares  of  business,  and  study  a  little 
Sociology  himself. 

"  If  you  haven't  got  any  home,"  said  Pudge, 
"  why  don't  you  stay  with  us,  Uncle  John?  ' 
And  Waldron  said  that  if  he  were  to  do  that,  he 
guessed  it  was  about  time  to  pay  some  board. 
They  didn't  want  to  take  it,  but  he  insisted;  and 
after  much  whispering  between  Jimmy  and 
Uncle  John,  the  boy  went  out,  and  came  in,  stag 
gering  under  the  burden  of  good  things.  Uncle 
John  boasted  about  what  a  good  cook  he  was ;  so 
they  put  the  big  apron  on  him,  and  he  folded  a 
newspaper  into  a  cook's  cap,  and  got  busy. 


Uncle  John  223 

Jimmy  ran  across  the  hall  and  dragged  "  the 
nice  girl  "  over  to  see  him.  (If  only  Wall  Street 
could  have  seen  him!) 

Helen  entered  into  the  fun;  she  tasted  Uncle 
John's  cooking  and  pretended  it  made  her  sick; 
and  Uncle  John  threatened  her  with  a  big  spoon 
and  got  so  excited  that  he  let  the  toast  burn. 
Pudge  made  him  make  some  more. 

About  this  time,  Horace  Waldron  sat  in  his 
room,  looking  at  the  pictures  which  he  had 
bought  from  Helen  by  proxy.  But  as  he  looked, 
always  a  vision  came  of  her  as  he  saw  her  first, 
sitting  cross-legged,  wrapped  in  her  big  coat, 
eating  crackers  and  milk,  and  reading  a  book. 
(This  is  the  orthodox  picture  of  all  poor  but 
deserving  lady  artists.)  And  the  more  Horace 
thought  about  it,  the  more  convinced  he  became 
that  a  few  painting  lessons  would  help  him  won 
derfully  in  his  work  among  the  poor!  He  got 
his  courage  up  and  went  to  see  Helen  about  it. 
The  door  was  open  and  he  went  timidly  in. 
Helen  came  back  from  the  Moores  to  find  him 
standing  in  admiration  before  her  easel.  After 
a  good  deal  of  hemming  and  hawing,  the  matter 
was  arranged  and  Horace  went  to  work  at  it, 
though  he  was  always  trying  to  draw  pictures  of 
Helen,  who  scolded  him  and  tore  up  the  pictures. 
But  the  entree  was  established  and  he  came 
regularly. 


224          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

John  Waldron  was  too  big  a  man  to  drop  out 
of  sight  for  a  week  unnoticed,  and  one  evening 
he  read  in  the  paper  an  account  of  his  disap 
pearance.  He  laughed.  He  laughed  quite  often 
now;  formerly  he  had  not  laughed  at  all,  except 
in  derision.  A  knock  came  on  the  door;  if  he 
had  disappeared,  he  might  as  well  stay  disap 
peared;  so  Waldron  ducked  into  the  inner  room. 

It  was  Jenks,  the  collector.  Alice  was  a  few 
cents  "  shy,"  and  wanted  Jenks  to  come  back 
for  it. 

"  No,"  said  Jenks,  "  the  old  skin-flint  who 
owns  the  building  would  fire  me  if  he  thought  I 
would  trust  anyone  for  fifteen  cents!  I'll  pay  it 
myself. ' ' 

Waldron,  of  course,  heard  it  and  was  inclined 
to  be  angry  at  first;  then  he  laughed,  for  he 
knew  Jenks  was  right.  And  again  listening 
through  the  same  door,  he  heard  Horace  tell 
Helen  that  his  father  had  disappeared,  and  that 
while  he  had  parted  from  him  in  anger,  he  was 
very  dear  to  him  and  that  he  would  never  be 
happy  until  he  found  him.  And  the  whole  matter 
came  very  near  being  adjusted  there,  only  Hor 
ace  left  too  quickly.  For  a  certainty,  John  Wal 
dron  was  getting  humanized! 

That  night,  Pudge  had  too  much  jam  and  the 
resultant  "  tummy-ache."  Waldron  got  very 
worried  about  her,  and  started  out  for  the  doc- 


Uncle  John  225 

tor.  An  incoming  "  drunk  "  lit  a  cigarette  in 
the  hall  and  threw  the  blazing  match  into  a  pile 
of  rubbish.  When  Waldron  and  the  doctor  got 
back,  smoke  poured  in  volumes  from  the 
entrance.  He  and  the  doctor  plunged  into  the 
house,  the  doctor  to  come  staggering  out  in  a 
moment,  blinded  by  the  smoke.  Waldron  kept 
on;  he  got  to  the  room  and  burst  in  the  door. 
The  children  had  fallen  asleep  when  Pudge's 
ache  had  stopped,  and  were  just  wakening  and 
groping  in  the  smoke.  Waldron  wrapped  some 
clothes  about  their  heads,  and  sent  Jimmy  and 
Alice  down  the  stairs.  He  picked  up  Pudge  and 
started  to  follow,  but  the  stairs  to  the  floor  above 
fell,  blocking  the  door,  and  he  went  out  of  the 
window  and  down  the  fire-escape  to  the  floor 
below,  and  was  hopelessly  blocked  and  hemmed 
in  by  the  boxes  and  refuse  which  the  East-Sider 
usually  keeps  there.  As  he  stood  for  a  moment 
irresolute,  Horace  and  Helen,  who  were  return 
ing  from  the  theatre,  saw  him. 

"  Oh!  it  is  Uncle  John,"  she  screamed. 

"It  is  my  father!  "  gasped  Horace,  and  he 
plunged  into  the  building.  He  got  to  them  none 
too  soon,  and  fought  his  way  down  the  blazing 
stairs  with  his  double  burden.  .  .  . 

Uncle  John  sat  in  the  library,  looking  into  the 
fire.  Behind  him,  at  the  window,  stood  Horace 
and  Helen,  very  close  together,  looking  at  some 


226          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

pictures  which  seemed  to  interest  Helen  greatly. 
They  were  those  which  she  had  sold  to  Horace's 
friend,  and  the  reason  of  her  "  big  sale  "  was 
apparent,  and  Horace's  little  scheme  of  philan 
thropy  was  revealed  in  all  its  shamelessness ! 
Blushes  of  confusion  covered  her  cheeks,  and 
she  did  not  dare  look  at  Horace,  though  he  was 
looking  very  intently  at  her.  In  bounced  Alice 
and  Jimmy,  well  dressed  and  with  school  books 
in  their  hands.  Pudge  followed  with  a  very  big 
piece  of  very  sticky  candy.  They  swarmed  all 
over  Uncle  John,  and  some  of  the  candy  got  in 
his  whiskers,  but  he  only  laughed.  Finally,  the 
observant  Pudge  called  attention  to  Horace  and 
Helen  —  Uncle  John  had  to  turn  clear  around  in 
his  chair  to  see  them.  Horace  was  holding  Helen 
very  tight,  and  whispering  to  her.  Uncle  John 
pretended  that  it  was  a  great  breach  of  etiquette 
to  look,  and  turned  their  heads  away  for  them; 
but  they  broke  away  and  ran  to  Helen,  who  took 
them  into  her  arms. 

Uncle  John  stood  up  and  looked  at  his  watch. 
"  Bless  my  soul!  "  he  said,  "  I  hadn't  any  idea 
it  was  so  late!  Don't  wait  dinner  for  me  — 
maybe  you  won't  miss  me  much  tonight,  any 
how.  I  Ve  got  a  long  list  of  poor  families  that 
I  must  see  this  afternoon,  and  then  I'm  going 
to  the  architects  to  see  about  remodelling  all 
those  tenements.  So  long!  " 


LUCIA 

Produced  under  title,  "The  Tell- Tale  Step." 
Produced  by  Thomas  A.  Edison,  Inc. 

Featuring  SHIRLEY  MASON  and 
BOBBY  HUGGINS. 

Directed  by  Burton  George. 

Giovanni  Pallazzi,  with  his  arm  about  his 
blind  daughter,  stood  at  the  rail  of  the  steamer 
as  it  came  slowly  up  the  bay.  As  he  passed  the 
giant  statue,  he  reverently  doffed  his  hat;  and 
as  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  this  Promised 
Land  spread  out  before  him,  the  emotional 
Italian  painted  for  her  ears  the  picture  that 
was  veiled  from  her  sightless  eyes.  And  when 
he  stepped  upon  the  pavement  at  the  Battery,  he 
knelt  and  kissed  what  seemed  to  him  to  be  sacred 
ground;  even  as  the  Genoese  had  done,  almost 
five  hundred  years  before.  And  Lucia  knelt 
beside  him,  her  precious  violin  hugged  close  to 
her  breast,  and  thanked  God  from  the  bottom  of 
her  pure  little  heart,  that  they  were  in  the  Land 
of  Liberty. 

227 


228          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

For  Giovanni  had  fled  from  the  wrath  of  the 
Camorra,  though  Lucia  didn't  know  it.  But  she 
did  know  that  there  were  always  troubles  and 
something  to  fear  at  home,  and  she  felt  that 
those  things  were  over  now.  Poor  little  thing! 
She  did  not  know  that  the  Camorra  has  a  very 
long  arm ;  but  Giovanni  knew  it  —  anil  shuddered. 

They  took  up  abode  in  humble  lodgings  among 
their  own  people,  and  as  they  entered,  the  ragged 
Pietro,  the  much  abused  stepson  of  Luigi,  sat 
upon  the  steps,  whither  he  had  fled  to  escape  a 
beating  from  his  stepfather,  and  looked  with 
wide,  brown  eyes  into  Lucia's  face  —  and  from 
that  time  he  was  her  devoted  slave  and  shadow. 
The  little  family  had  found  at  least  one  friend 
in  the  New  Land.  Passionately  fond  of  music, 
the  boy  would  sit  for  hours  at  her  feet  while 
she  drew  the  melody  from  the  bosom  of  her 
violin;  and  at  other  times,  he  taught  her  as 
much  of  the  strange  language  as  he  himself 
knew  —  a  very  willing  and  adoringr  master,  and 
a  very  saucy  and  precocious  pupil.  They  gave 
Pietro  the  freedom  of  their  home,  and  he  stole 
in  and  out  and  stayed  or  went,  much  as  a  cat 
would  have  done;  and  no  dog  ever  had  the  blind, 
unreasoning  devotion  for  his  master  that  Pietro 
had  for  Lucia. 

Beneath  the  junk  shop  of  Luigi,  which  was 
more  or  less  a  "  blind  "  for  his  real  business, 


Lucia  229 

was  a  cellar,  entered  by  a  trap  door  concealed 
by  a  pile  of  old  rugs  and  carpets.  Here  met  a 
branch  of  the  Camorra  whose  ban  and  sentence 
had  fallen  upon  Giovanni  at  home;  and  here, 
in  due  time,  came  a  letter  which  bade  them,  as 
loyal  members,  carry  it  out.  Dimitri  was 
selected,  for  he  had  known  Giovanni  in  Italy, 
and  he  must  find  him  here;  and  he  took  up  the 
trail  much  as  a  hound  takes  up  the  scent. 

He  found  Giovanni  without  much  trouble,  and 
one  evening,  as  Lucia  sat  playing  to  Pietro  and 
her  father,  she  started  — "  Someone  is  at  the 
door,"  she  said.  Giovanni  and  Pietro  had  heard 
nothing,  but  she  insisted,  and  Giovanni  went  to 
the  door  and  opened  it.  There,  thrust  into  the 
outer  door,  was  a  stiletto,  the  death  warning! 
Instantly,  Giovanni  held  his  finger  on  his  lips 
and  looked  at  Pietro,  who  nodded  and  under 
stood. 

Giovanni  noiselessly  took  the  stiletto  from  the 
door.  "  There  is  no  one  here,  Little  One,"  he 
said. 

"  There  was,"  said  Lucia,  "  I  heard  his  step." 

Giovanni  and  Pietro  assured  her  that  she 
must  be  mistaken,  but  though  she  said  nothing, 
she  was  unconvinced.  She  had  many  times  given 
evidence  of  the  accuracy  of  her  hearing,  and 
would  tell  Pietro,  as  they  sat  together  at 
"  lessons,"  that  her  father  was  coming,  although 


230          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Pietro  could  hear  nothing;  and  she  was  always 
right. 

Giovanni  came  in  one  evening;  Lucia  and 
Pietro  sat  together  talking.  He  bolted  the  door 
and  saw  to  the  catch  on  the  window  —  he  was 
very  careful  these  days  —  and  sat  in  his  chair. 
As  the  hour  grew  late,  he  nodded  and  finally 
slept.  Pietro  bade  Lucia  good-night  and  unbolted 
the  door  and  went.  Lucia  slipped  to  her  fa ther's 
side,  lightly  kissed  his  hair  and  went  into  the 
inner  room  to  bed. 

Down  the  steps  came  the  stealthy  form  of 
Dimitri  and  crept  softly  to  the  door.  He  turned 
the  knob  and  opened  it  —  his  victim  slept  before 
him  and  he  stepped  into  the  room.  Lucia,  at 
her  prayers,  raised  her  head  and  listened;  then 
started  up  and  came  into  the  room,  calling 
"  Father!  "  and  as  Dimitri  darted  out  of  the 
door,  he  saw  the  white  figure  in  the  doorway, 
but  he  knew  that  she  could  not  see  him,  and  that 
he  was  safe!  Foolish  Dimitri! 

There  was  the  usual  long  and  vain  investiga 
tion.  The  District  Attorney,  Hugh  Graham,  had 
suffered  a  nervous  breakdown,  and  things 
dragged  more  than  was  customary.  Lucia  always 
told  them  that  she  had  heard  the  man's  step  — 
he  had  been  at  the  door  once  before,  but  her 
father  and  Pietro  had  tried  to  conceal  it  from 
her  —  and  she  could  tell  it  among  a  million. 


Lucia  231 

But  that  availed  nothing  —  then.  Luigi  came 
with  suave  words  and  kindly  acts,  for  he  knew 
from  Pietro  about  the  wonderful  girl. 
And  the  agents  of  The  Children's  Society  came 
too  and  were  very  officious.  In  every  child  of 
the  East  Side  is  an  abiding  terror  of  "  The 
Society, "  and  Pietro,  while  he  feared  that  all 
would  not  be  well  with  her  if  she  went  to  Luigi 's 
home,  felt  that  it  would  be  better  than  at  "  The 
Gerrys,"  and  he  advised  her  to  go.  And  then 
Luigi  showed  the  agents  his  home  and  said  that 
he  would  treat  her  like  one  of  the  family  — 
which  was  no  lie.  He  did. 

He  had  an  awful  time  making  her  go  out  on  to 
the  street  to  play  her  violin  for  pennies,  but  he 
finally  prevailed.  He  took  the  food  from  her 
plate  and  shoveled  it  onto  his  —  "  Those  who  eat 
must  work,"  quoth  he;  and  Pietro  looking  on 
helplessly,  gripped  the  handle  of  his  table-knife 
harder.  Then  he  took  away  her  beloved  violin, 
and  she  sat  for  days,  twisting  her  idle  hands, 
until  at  last,  she  gave  up.  Rosetta,  Luigi 's  wife, 
dressed  her  in  picturesque  rags,  and  Luigi  put 
her  violin  in  her  hands  with  a,  sneering,  tri 
umphant  smile,  and  with  Pietro  as  her  guide, 
he  sent  her  out.  As  they  were  about  to  start, 
and  it  was  very  cold,  he  called  Pietro  back  and 
cut  and  tore  his  shoes  to  ribbons  and  took  away 


232          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

anything  of  warmth  that  the  boy  had  upon  him, 
that  sympathy  might  be  the  greater. 

The  District  Attorney  sat  in  the  big  library  of 
his  sister's  home,  convalescing  from  the  nervous 
breakdown.  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  was  most  fond  and 
proud  of  him,  and  most  attentive.  She  had  even 
picked  out  a  wife  for  him  in  the  person  of  Miss 
Stryver,  a  tall  and  beautiful  girl,  aristocratic, 
"  with  such  an  air  about  her/'  Mrs.  Arbuthnot 
said. 

And  Miss  Stryver  "  had  ideas,"  too.  She 
and  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  were  doing  their  best  to 
entertain  him  and  "  keep  his  mind  off  things." 
Miss  Stryver  decided  that  he  should  be  read  to; 
and  turning  up  her  nose  at  anything  in  the  well- 
filled  bookcases,  she  took  from  her  own  handbag 
a  volume  marked  "  Mrs.  Pankhurst's  Speeches," 
and  started  in.  Poor  Graham  could  do  nothing 
but  grin  and  bear  it. 

And  then,  from  beneath  the  window,  came 
the  wonderful  strains  of  a  violin.  Graham  heard 
it  and  brightened  as  he  listened.  Mrs.  Arbuth 
not  and  Miss  Stryver  were  much  annoyed,  and 
were  for  ordering  the  butler  to  "  shoo  away  " 
the  street  musician.  But  Graham  refused  to  allow 
it;  and  when  the  music  had  ceased,  he  sent  the 
butler  out  with  a  dollar  bill.  Miss  Stryver 
resumed  her  reading.  She  rounded  out  a  period, 


Lucia  233 

emphasizing  it  by  walloping  the  book  with  her 
clenched  fist,  and  said,  "  And  Mrs.  Pankhurst 
was  right!  Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Graham?  " 

And  Graham,  opening  his  eyes,  sat  up  quickly 
and  said,  "  Yes,  I  think  it  was  the  most  beautiful 
music  I  ever  heard."  And  Miss  Stryver's  face 
would  have  made  a  grand  little  "  still  "  for  the 
exhibitor.  So,  during  the  long  convalescence, 
Graham  came  to  look  for  the  two  pitiful  little 
figures  that  came  beneath  his  window,  and  to 
enjoy,  more  and  more,  the  music  of  the  inspired 
violin. 

One  day,  as  she  sat  in  the  inner  room,  she 
heard  The  Step  in  the  shop;  Dimitri  had  come 
up  from  the  cellar,  where  he  had  been  pouring 
a  bright  metal  into  moulds  that  looked  as  though 
they  ought  to  belong  to  Uncle  Sam.  She  started 
toward  the  door,  but  Eosetta  restrained  her  a 
moment,  and  Dimitri  went  out,  unconscious  of 
his  danger.  But  Lucia  knew  that  she  had  heard 
the  man,  and  that  in  time,  she  would  surely  find 
him. 

As  Graham  improved,  they  came  to  him  from 
the  office  with  business.  An  assistant  and  two 
Central  Office  detectives  were  with  him  on  this 
occasion,  and  they  were  discussing  the  Pallazzi 
murder.  "  While  a  great  many  things  point  to 
this  man  Dimitri,"  said  the  assistant,  "  the  case 
against  him  isn't  at  all  strong,  and  we  need 


234          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

some  direct  evidence  connecting  him  with  the 
murder. "  And  while  Graham  was  considering 
the  matter,  the  music  started  in  the  street.  They 
all  listened,  Graham  standing  by  the  window. 
When  Lucia  ceased  playing,  he  took  a  bill  from 
his  pocket  and  threw  it  out.  Pietro  gathered  it 
up,  and  sullenly  doffed  his  ragged  hat.  The 
others  came  to  the  window  and  one  of  the 
detectives  started.  "  Why,  that  is  the  blind 
daughter  of  the  murdered  man,  Pallazzi!  "  he 
said. 

While  they  watched,  they  saw  Luigi  come  to 
the  pair  and  roughly  take  the  bill  from  Pietro 
and  hurry  them  along  to  new  pastures.  "  Follow 
them,"  said  Graham,  and  the  detectives  hurried 
out. 

Toward  night,  weary  and  worn,  and  with  the 
detectives  still  in  their  wake,  Luigi  and  Lucia 
and  Pietro  came  in  front  of  Luigi 's  shop.  As 
they  were  about  to  enter,  they  were  met  by  two 
sleek,  well-dressed  young  men,  and  a  woman 
who  was  plainly  of  the  underworld  —  way  under. 
They  spoke  to  Luigi  a  moment,  and  he  called 
back  Lucia,  who  came  dejectedly.  Pietro  came, 
too,  but  a  clout  on  the  ear  from  one  of  the 
young  men  and  another  from  Luigi,  sent  him 
reeling  back. 

The  quartette  looked  Lucia  over,  appraisingly. 
"  Playing  the  fiddle  is  no  business  for  her," 


Lucia  235 

they  whispered  into  Luigi 's  receptive  ear  — 
Luigi  had  been  thinking  that,  himself.  One  of 
the  young  men  ventured  a  little  familiarity  with 
Lucia,  and  got  a  wallop  for  his  pains  from  her, 
just  forestalling  Pietro,  who  was  about  to  do 
the  same  thing. 

"  Aha!  "  thought  the  "  cadet. "  "  Genuine 
and  worth  having!  " 

And  Luigi  sent  Lucia  and  Pietro  into  the  shop, 
and  talked  a  while  with  the  trio,  who  laughed 
at  him.  Luigi  entered  and  closed  the  door  of 
the  shop  and  stood  against  it,  thinking;  Lucia 
sat  in  the  inner  room  and  heard  him  coming. 
Against  the  stone  of  the  back  step,  Pietro  sharp 
ened  and  pointed  the  table  knife.  Luigi  entered 
and  looked  at  Lucia ;  she  felt  his  gaze  and  shrank. 
He  sent  Kosetta  out  on  an  errand,  and  then  he 
crept  toward  the  trembling  girl,  as  Tarquin  crept 
upon  Lucrece.  Dimitri,  in  the  cellar,  was  pour 
ing  metal  into  moulds.  Lucia  instinctively  laid 
down  her  violin  and  prepared  for  his  approach. 
He  sprang  upon  her  and  wrapped  his  arms  about 
her.  She  beat  at  his  face  with  her  fists,  and  she 
sunk  her  white  teeth  into  his  arm;  but  it  would 
have  been  of  little  avail,  had  not  Pietro  burst 
in  with  his  sharpened  knife,  and  slashed  mur 
derously  at  the  man.  Luigi  let  go  long  enough 
for  Lucia  to  wriggle  from  his  grasp  and  to  dart 
to  the  shop  and  toward  the  outer  door.  Dimitri, 


236          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

hearing  the  noise  above,  came  from  the  cellar 
and  started  toward  the  door.  She  heard  his 
step  —  The  Step  —  and  she  grappled  with  him 
and  screamed. 

In  the  inner  room,  it  would  have  been  a  duel 
to  the  death,  but  at  the  scream,  the  detectives 
broke  into  the  front  door  and  Luigi  hurried  to 
the  shop,  followed  by  Pietro. 

"  This  is  the  man  who  killed  my  father!  " 
she  screamed.  "  This  is  the  man!  " 

And  when  it  was  all  over,  the  detectives  led 
away  Dimitri  and  Lucia  to  Headquarters,  and 
Pietro  followed. 

They  'phoned  to  the  District  Attorney. 
"  Bring  her  here  and  I  will  question  her,"  he 
answered,  "  and  my  sister  will  take  charge  of 
her  if  you  fear  for  her  safety."  And  thus  it 
was  that  Lucia  became  installed  in  the  home  of 
Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  until  such  time  as  the  trial 
should  be  held. 

Pietro  got  a  fearful  beating  from  Luigi  after 
he  had  found  him  cowering  on  a  doorstep  and 
had  dragged  the  boy  home;  probably  he  would 
have  killed  Pietro  in  his  efforts  to  make  him 
tell  where  Lucia  was,  had  it  not  been  for  old 
Rosetta,  who  stayed  his  hand  at  last.  But 
Pietro  remained  mute,  and  would  not  tell. 

The  gang,  Dimitri 's  friends,  demanded  of 
Luigi  that  he  find  and  dispose  of  the  girl;  he 


Lucia  237 

had  let  her  escape,  and  she  would  be  an  impor 
tant  witness  against  Dimitri;  and  they  gave  him 
a  week  to  do  it  in.  And  thereby,  Luigi  found 
himself  very  much  up  against  it,  and  would  go 
to  any  length  to  find  her. 

In  Mrs.  Arbuthnot 's  home,  Lucia  played  her 
violin  and  became  loved  by  everyone  but  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  and  Miss  Stryver.  She  grew  to  listen 
for  Graham's  step  and  to  wait  for  his  coming. 
Graham  was  unwilling  to  confine  her  in  the 
House  of  Detention,  and  he  was  fearful  for  her 
safety  if  he  let  her  go;  so  there  she  stayed. 
Pietro  used  to  steal  out  nights  and  creep  into 
the  gardens  about  the  house  and  whistle  softly, 
and  Lucia  would  hear  him  and  come,  and  they 
would  talk  for  a  moment  —  the  one  bright  spot 
in  Pietro 's  life  these  days.  But  Luigi  followed 
him,  and  as  he  took  his  evil  face  out  of  the 
shrubbery,  he  smiled  and  prepared. 

Graham  had  spoken  to  Dr.  Oppenheim,  a  noted 
eye  specialist,  about  Lucia's  eyes,  and  the  old 
man  agreed  to  come  and  look  at  them  to  see  if 
anything  could  be  done.  The  doctor  found  them 
all  in  the  library,  Lucia  playing  for  them,  while 
Mrs.  Arbuthnot  and  Miss  Stryver  looked  at  her 
through  their  lorgnettes  and  said,  "  How  inter 
esting!  "  and  "  Very  pretty,  indeed/'  The  old 
scientist  examined  Lucia's  eyes,  and  said  that 
he  felt  sure  he  could  remove  the  difficulty.  Miss 


238          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Stryver  said,  "  How  interesting!  "  and  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  was  about  to  tell  the  scientist  "  what 
a  lovely  time  they  had  had  at  the  Mothers  *  Meet 
ing  that  day  and  how  Miss  Stryver  had  made  a 
perfectly  lovely  talk  on  '  How  to  Bring  Up  Chil 
dren,'  '  when  Graham  suggested  that  Lucia  play 
for  the  old  man.  When  she  finished,  the  old  man's 
face  was  buried  on  his  breast,  and  a  tear  or  two 
glistened  in  his  whiskers.  He  got  up  and  left, 
after  reverently  kissing  Lucia  on  the  forehead. 

Graham  sat  with  his  head  in  his  hand.  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  and  Miss  Stryver  had  gone,  long 
since.  His  fingers  touched  the  doctor's  instru 
ment  case,  which  the  old  man  had  forgotten. 
He  looked  at  Lucia,  and  across  his  face  there 
swept  a  wave  of  love  and  passion,  and  he  started 
as  though  to  take  her  into  his  arms.  But  instead, 
he  called  the  maid,  who  led  Lucia  away  to  bed, 
and  Graham  sat  long  into  the  night,  thinking. 

Luigi  and  the  gang  pulled  it  off  as  per  sched 
ule.  They  followed  Pietro  in  a  car  —  it  was  a 
few  days  after  the  operation,  and  Oppenheim 
said  that  on  no  account  must  the  bandages  be 
removed  in  less  than  ten  days.  Pietro  came  into 
the  gardens  and  whistled.  The  nurse  had  left 
the  room,  and  Lucia  was  sitting  in  a  big  chair. 
She  slipped  out  of  the  house  in  the  night,  and 
went  to  Pietro  and  told  him  all  about  it.  One 
of  the  gang  knocked  Pietro  on  the  head,  and 


Lucia  239 

another  put  a  handkerchief  of  chloroform  to 
Lucia's  face  and  a  cloak  over  her,  and  they  took 
her  to  the  cellar,  the  existence  of  which  no  one 
outside  of  the  gang,  not  even  Pietro,  knew.  The 
two  men  left  her  with  Luigi  and  Eosetta,  and 
Luigi  started  to  bind  Lucia  in  a  chair. 

Graham,  informed  of  Lucia 's  disappearance, 
found  Pietro  in  the  grounds,  and  when  he  recov 
ered  consciousness,  they  made  all  haste  to  Luigi 's 
shop.  It  was  locked.  Pietro  slid  around  and 
crept  into  the  back  window,  while  Graham  sum 
moned  two  policemen,  and  waited.  Pietro  upset 
a  chair,  and  Luigi  heard  it  and  paused,  with 
Lucia,  half  bound,  and  came  up  the  ladder.  In 
the  shop,  having  no  time  to  close  the  trap  door, 
Luigi  and  Pietro  faced  each  other,  Pietro  with 
his  knife  in  his  hand.  In  the  cellar,  Lucia  strug 
gled  at  her  bonds  and  wriggled  free,  but  Eosetta 
sought  to  hold  her.  In  the  strange  place,  Lucia 
tore  off  the  bandage  from  her  eyes,  and  she  could 
see! 

She  fought  off  the  aged  Eosetta  and  sprang 
for  the  ladder,  and  got  her  hands  on  the  ledge, 
when  Eosetta  pulled  it  away,  and  left  her  swing 
ing.  The  ladder  was  too  much  for  Eosetta,  and 
she  toppled  backward  against  the  table  and  upset 
the  lamp,  setting  fire  to  the  place  quickly.  The 
agile  Lucia  scrambled  up  to  the  shop,  and  as 
she  lay  crouching  against  the  wall,  she  saw  the 


• 

240          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

fight.  In  a  max!  rash  at  the  fast  tiring  boy, 
Luigi  stumbled,  and  fell  into  the  open  trap, 
from  which  smoke  was  now  issuing  thickly. 
Pietro,  insane  with  rage,  the  memory  of  the 
years  of  abuse  welling  in  his  fierce  little  heart, 
crouched  at  the  opening,  knife  in  hand.  In  the 
smoke  of  the  cellar,  Rosetta  struggled  to  put 
back  the  ladder.  She  finally  adjusted  it,  and 
Luigi,  struggling  to  his  knees,  motioned  her  to 
ascend.  Pietro  helped  her  out  and  she  fell 
unconscious  on  the  floor  of  the  shop.  But  when 
Luigi  7s  fingers  clutched  the  ledge,  Pietro  slashed 
at  them  —  and  they  relaxed  and  were  withdrawn ; 
and  when  Luigi  again  attempted  to  climb  up, 
Pietro  shoved  the  ladder  away  from  the  opening 
and  leaped  down  after  it! 

Luigi  lay  upon  his  face  in  the  thick  smoke  of 
the  cellar,  and  Pietro  lay  upon  him,  his  boyish 
fingers  sunk  into  his  stepfather's  throat.  Of 
course,  Graham  and  the  policemen  and  many 
others  had  come  in  by  this  time,  but  the  place 
was  a  mass  of  flame  and  smoke,  and  they  barely 
got  Lucia  and  old  Rosetta  out  in  safety.  And  in 
the  smoke  of  the  cellar,  Pietro  had  his  way  with 
Luigi. 

At  the  trial  of  Dimitri,  Lucia  proved  the  accu 
racy  of  her  hearing.  She  picked  out  Dimitri 's 
step  among  many.  Dimitri  didn't  want  to  sub 
ject  himself  to  the  test;  but  his  counsel,  not 


Lucia  241 

believing  in  such  things,  and  seeing  that  the 
effect  would  be  very  bad  on  the  jury  if  he 
didn't,  urged  him  to  submit  to  the  test.  And 
he  was  sorry  afterwards. 

Graham  had  lingered  after  the  trial  to  receive 
the  congratulations  of  everybody.  Lucia  came 
into  the  library  and  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  was  there. 
She  had  just  been  holding  a  letter  up  to  the 
light  and  trying  to  see  what  it  said.  She  handed 
the  letter  to  Lucia  and  helped  her  read  it.  The 
letter  was  from  "  Max  Marks,  Incorporated/'  or 
somebody,  offering  Lucia  $500  a  week  for  ten 
weeks  "  because  of  her  wonderful  ability  on  the 
violin  and  on  account  of  her  place  in  the  public 
eye."  Lucia  shrank  from  it. 

"  Of  course,  you  will  accept,"  said  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot,  "  for  you  must  feel  that  you  should 
leave  here  at  the  earliest  possible  moment." 
Lucia  went  upstairs  slowly  and  began  to  pack. 
Then  she  realized  that  she  had  brought  nothing 
with  her,  except  her  violin,  and  could  take  nothing 
away.  Graham  came  into  the  library,  and  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  told  him  of  the  circumstances  and 
showed  him  the  letter,  and  told  him,  also,  that 
Miss  Stryver  said  that  the  girl  had  been  there 
too  long  already. 

"  Damn  Miss  Stryver!  "  said  Graham,  and 
then  he  proceeded  to  lay  down  the  law  in  no 
uncertain  terms,  and  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  left  hur- 


242          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

riedly.  Graham  stood  at  the  table  holding  the 
letter  when  Lucia  came  in  to  say  "  Goodbye." 
He  looked  at  her  a  long  time  without  speaking. 
She  came  to  him  and  sank  on  her  knees  before 
him  and  kissed  his  hand  in  humble  gratitude, 
dropping  her  violin  and  her  small  bundle.  He 
lifted  her  as  one  would  a  doll  and  put  her  into 
a  chair.  He  kicked  the  bundle  away,  took  off 
her  hat  and  gloves,  and  put  the  violin  in  its 
accustomed  place.  Then  he  pointed  at  the  letter, 
and  though  he  said  nothing,  his  face  spoke  — 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  that!  " 

She  looked  long  into  his  eyes  and  she  saw  there 
something  that  she  had  never  seen  before. 
Slowly  she  rose,  still  looking  at  him  to  be  sure 
she  read  aright,  and  taking  the  letter,  tore  it  in 
two.  And  then  with  a  little  gasp,  she  came  into 
his  open  arms,  and  buried  her  face  upon  his 
breast. 


CIRCUS  MARY 

Produced  by  The  Universal  Film  Company. 

Featuring  MARY  FULLER. 
Directed  by  Lucius  Henderson. 

The  Circus  had  come  to  town!  There  was  no 
doubt  about  it.  On  every  fence  and  wall  were 
the  posters  with  the  prancing  horses,  the  golden 
chariots,  the  lovely  ladies  poised  and  posed  upon 
the  trapezes,  their  lack  of  clothes  being  another 
sure  indication  that  Spring  had  indeed  come. 
There  were  the  pictures  of  funny  clowns  and 
elephants  twenty  feet  tall  and  giraffes  thirty; 
the  giant,  and  the  fat  and  the  bearded  ladies; 
the  complacent  young  woman  who  sat  perfectly 
calm  in  a  cage  of  lions  that  would  have  fright 
ened  Daniel  out  of  his  wits  —  and  all  the  rest 
of  "  The  Most  Colossal  Aggregation  of  Trans 
continental  and  Stupendous  Wonders  Ever  Gath 
ered  Together  Under  One  Tent!  "  Small  boys 
—  and  big  ones  —  left  their  tops  and  marbles 
and  other  games;  children  stopped  their  fathers 
to  look  and  marvel ;  and  fathers  stopped  children, 

243 


244          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

too,  if  the  truth  must  be  known,  for  about  the 
same  purpose.  We  never  quite  outgrow  the 
Circus. 

And  on  this  day,  twenty  years  ago,  Mary, 
her  face  like  a  flower,  and  her  form  but  ill 
concealed  by  the  gauze  and  the  spangles,  sat 
upon  the  handsomest  horse  in  the  outfit,  with 
Marsac,  the  Clown,  at  her  side,  and  smiled  at 
the  yokels,  as  the  horse  did  "  High  School  " 
down  the  street,  to  the  blatant  tarara  of  the 
sweating  band.  Mary  was  "  The  Queen  of  the 
Air  "  with  the  show,  and  funny  little  Marsac, 
the  Clown,  had  made  her  the  Queen  of  his  Heart, 
and  he  had  laid  it  at  her  feet,  I  can't  tell  you 
how  many  times,  or  in  how  many  strange  places. 
Amid  the  sawdust  of  the  ring,  and  before  the 
tiger's  cage,  and  as  she  fondled  old  Hector,  the 
elephant,  while  his  sensitive  trunk  searched  her 
handbag  for  sugar  plums,  and  lots  of  other 
places.  Mary  never  would  quite  consent;  for 
Mary  was  eighteen  and  good  to  look  upon,  and 
had  the  way  of  women.  But  Marsac  always  felt 
that  he  would  rather  be  refused  by  her  than 
accepted  by  anyone  else  —  which  is  the  way  all 
true  lovers  should  feel. 

And  then  came  John  Hammond,  a  rising  young 
attorney  and  politician,  and  completely  upset 
everything,  as  far  as  Marsac  was  concerned,  and 
Mary,  too,  for  that  matter.  He  met  Mary  — 


Circus  Mary  245 

was  introduced  by  "  The  Old  Man  " —  and  he 
went  to  work  very  fast.  There  were  a  few  din 
ners,  a  few  moonlight  walks ;  and  then  a  carriage 
with  horses  which  met  Mary  at  the  edge  of  the 
circus  lot,  late  one  night.  And  the  next  morn 
ing,  Philadelphia  papers  told  how  John  Ham 
mond,  about  whom  there  had  been  some  talk 
for  the  congressional  nomination  (the  Boss  had 
promised  it  to  him),  had  married  Miss  Mary 
Elton,  known  as  "  The  Queen  of  the  Air,"  with 
Bobbins 's  circus!  And  Marsac  could  only  grit 
his  teeth  in  his  grief,  and  go  on  clowning,  just 
the  same. 

After  the  honeymoon,  Hammond  took  her  to 
his  fine  home,  and  started  to  introduce  her  into 
society.  After  a  number  of  distinct  snubs,  mostly 
from  people  who  weren't  fit  to  tie  Mary's  shoes, 
he  gave  it  up.  The  Boss  had  to  refuse  him  the 
congressional  nomination  on  account  of  what  he 
called  "  his  escapade,"  and  other  cheerful  things 
happened. 

And  poor  Mary  found  out  all  about  it. 
She  felt  that  she  was  a  millstone  about  her  hus 
band's  neck;  and  after  a  night  of  tears,  she 
stole  quietly  down  the  big  stairs  and  out  into 
the  street  —  and  back  to  the  circus!  Hammond 
was  too  proud  to  go  after  her,  although  he  really 
loved  her;  but  instead,  he  devoted  himself  to 
his  profession,  with  excellent  results. 


246          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

They  welcomed  Mary  back  to  the  circus  with 
open  arms ;  the  *  *  Old  Man  ' '  was  jubilant ;  the 
Clown  was  exultantly  happy,  the  freaks  lost  their 
grouches,  and  the  animals  got  their  sugar  again. 
Months  after  her  return,  her  baby  was  born,  and 
for  its  little  life,  Mary  gave  her  own.  Poor 
Marsac  stood  at  the  bedside  in  the  tent,  the  tears 
making  furrows  down  his  make-up;  but  the  audi 
ence  was  calling  for  him,  and  he  had  to  go  on, 
dancing  and  grinning  and  tumbling  about,  just 
as  though  the  wound  in  his  heart  wasn't  bleed 
ing  a  stream  that  would  never  be  stopped. 
And  after  the  last  bow  and  grimace,  he  stag 
gered  back  to  her  bed.  Mary  roused  herself 
enough  to  take  the  Clown's  hand  and  put  it  on 
the  baby,  and  to  whisper  to  him  with  her  last 
breath,  "  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  you 
will  always  look  out  for  my  baby."  And  Marsac 
promised,  and  took  the  baby  in  his  arms.  And 
when  they  had  covered  Mary's  face,  the  women 
of  the  circus  came  to  Marsac,  who  stood  with 
staring  eyes,  and  tried  to  take  the  baby  from 
him,  but  he  would  not  let  it  go. 

And  all  through  the  years,  he  never  did  let 
the  baby  go.  He  taught  her  little  feet  the  road 
—  always  the  right  one  —  and  she  was  his  con 
stant  companion  and  playfellow.  When  she  was 
four,  he  used  to  hold  her  on  the  steady  old  ring- 
horse,  and  on  the  little  low  wire  that  he  rigged 


Circus  Mary  247 

up;  together  they  sat  and  fed  and  teased  the  big 
elephant  with  pop-corn  and  sugar.  And  always 
on  Sundays,  dressed  in  their  best,  he  took  her 
to  church  —  money  couldn't  have  bribed  him  to 
forego  that  duty,  rain  or  shine.  And  at  eighteen, 
Mary  was  the  flower  and  pride  of  the  circus  — 
they  called  her  "  The  Clown's  Baby."  Like  her 
mother,  whom  she  resembled  strikingly,  she  was 
an  adept  on  the  high  wire.  She  led  the  usual 
circus  life,  but  always  guarded  by  Marsac. 

"  The  Old  Man  "  was  having  a  lot  of  trouble 
with  the  grafters  who  followed  the  show.  One 
of  them  made  love  to  Mary,  and  got  so  bold  one 
day,  that  he  tried  to  take  her  hand  which  lay  in 
her  lap  under  an  apron.  He  didn't  know  that 
a  pet  snake's  head  lay  in  her  lap  also,  until  he 
took  hold  of  it;  and  that  ended  Mr.  Pedro's 
wooing  for  that  day,  at  least.  The  Old  Man 
broke  up  their  shell  game  one  time,  when  there 
was  a  particularly  rich  crop  of  "  suckers  "  in 
sight,  and  a  fight  followed,  during  which  one  of 
the  tent-men  was  shot.  The  police  came  and 
the  District  Attorney,  young  Mr.  Graham.  Two 
of  the  grafters  had  been  captured. 

When  Graham  questioned  the  circus  people, 
Mary  asserted  positively  that  neither  of  the  cap 
tured  ones  did  the  shooting.  "  Pedro  shot  the 
tent-man.  I  saw  him."  This  made  Mary  a 


248          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

material  witness,  and  it  was  arranged  that  she 
go  to  the  District  Attorney's  office  to  make  her 
statement  in  proper  form. 

They  started  with  the  police,  but  Graham's  car 
developed  engine  trouble,  and  was  delayed;  and 
in  a  lonely  stretch  of  road,  Graham  and  Mary 
came  across  the  fleeing  remnant  of  Pedro's  gang. 
And  when  it  was  all  over,  Mary  and  Graham 
lay  bound  on  the  upper  floor  of  a  big  deserted 
factory,  while  Pedro  and  the  gang  debated  on 
the  lower  floor  what  was  to  be  done  with  them. 
Pedro's  brother  was  one  of  the  captured  ones, 
and  Pedro  wanted  to  get  him  off.  Mary  man 
aged  to  gnaw  through  the  rope  that  bound  Gra 
ham's  hands,  and  then  they  were  liberated 
enough  to  reconnoiter  their  position  for  possible 
chances  of  escape. 

Near  to  the  one  window,  high  above  the 
ground,  ran  some  wires.  Mary  at  once  sug 
gested  that  it  would  be  easy  for  her,  once  she 
were  on  the  wire,  to  walk  to  the  pole  and  climb 
down.  Graham  wouldn't  hear  of  it,  at  first; 
but  Mary  finally  had  her  way;  and  after  a  good 
deal  of  difficulty,  she  swung  from  the  window 
sill  to  the  wire  and  walked  away,  while  Graham 
watched  her  from  the  window.  She  got  the 
police,  and  they  rescued  Graham,  just  in  time, 
for  he  was  having  a  desperate  fight  with  the 


Circus  Mary  249 

gang,  but  Pedro  escaped,  as  desperate  villains 
usually  do. 

Governor  Hammond,  formerly  John  Hammond, 
who  ran  away  with  "  The  Queen  of  the  Air," 
twenty  years  before,  passed  a  flaring  circus  bill 
on  his  way  to  the  capitol.  It  was  the  same  old 
circus,  and  there  was  another  "  Queen  of  the 
Air  "  confronting  him;  and  memories  crowded 
thick  and  fast  upon  him,  and  a  mist  came  into 
his  eyes  as  the  one  romance  of  his  life  came  in 
vision  before  him.  But  he  brushed  it  away  with 
a  sigh,  and  stopped  in  to  congratulate  young 
Graham,  who  was  a  particular  friend  and 
protege  of  his,  upon  his  narrow  escape  from  a 
gang  of  desperate  kidnappers. 

"  Governor,"  said  Graham,  "  that  girl  saved 
my  life.  I  want  you  to  come  to  the  circus  this 
evening  and  see  her  perform."  The  Governor 
wouldn't  hear  of  it  at  first;  but  after  a  good 
deal  of  persuasion,  he  finally  agreed. 

And  so,  that  night,  when  Mary  came  tripping 
into  the  sawdust  ring,  bowing  and  smiling,  the 
Governor,  in  his  box,  snatched  the  opera  glasses 
from  Graham's  hand.  Through  them  he  saw 
his  wife  again,  as  he  had  first  seen  her,  twenty 
years  ago,  and  he  gasped  and  swayed  in  his 
seat.  There  could  be  but  one  explanation  —  his 
wife  must  have'  had  a  daughter  —  this  was  no 
chance  resemblance!  He  watched  Mary  climb 


250          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

the  ladder  to  the  little  platform  from  which  she 
stepped  on  the  wire ;  but  neither  his  eye  nor  any 
other  saw  Pedro,  lurking  back  of  the  box,  his 
knife  in  his  hand  and  murder  in  his  face.  Mary 
did  her  evolutions  on  the  wire,  but  in  the  midst 
of  them,  she  saw,  in  the  box,  behind  Graham 
and  the  Governor,  Pedro's  evil  face,  and  his 
knife  lifted  to  strike  Graham  in  the  back.  She 
pointed  and  screamed;  and  Graham  turned  just 
in  time  to  avoid  the  thrust.  But  Mary  tottered 
on  the  wire,  lost  her  balance,  and  fell. 

Next  to  the  Clown,  Graham  and  the  Governor 
were  the  first  at  her  side.  The  Clown  knew  the 
Governor,  and  the  Governor  knew  the  Clown. 
This  swept  away  the  last  doubt  in  his  mind. 
"  This  is  my  daughter,"  the  governor  shouted. 
' '  Quick !  Take  her  to  my  home !  ' ' 

During  the  long  days  of  convalescence,  Mary 
had  many  a  talk  with  her  father,  and  with  the 
1  '  Old  Man  ' '  and  the  Clown  —  to  say  nothing  of 
Graham.  Whenever  they  could,  the  "  Old  Man  " 
and  the  Clown  appeared  at  the  door  of  the 
executive  mansion,  their  rival  bouquets  in  their 
hands,  a  little  "  bluffed  "  by  the  gorgeous  butler 
who  opened  the  door,  but  sure  of  a  kindly  wel 
come  from  Mary  and  the  Governor.  They  were 
all  there  one  morning,  when  Graham  came  in  and, 
nodding  to  the  others,  went  straight  to  Mary 
and  began  an  animated  conversation.  Gradually 


Circus  Mary  251 

the  Governor,  the  "  Old  Man,''  and  the  Clown 
realized  that  they  were  distinctly  out  of  it. 
The  Governor  winked  at  the  Clown  and  the  ' l  Old 
Man,"  and  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the 
other  room.  They  slipped  out,  entirely  unob 
served  by  Mary  and  Graham.  Beside  the  big 
carven  sideboard,  the  Governor,  the  "  Old  Man," 
and  the  Clown  lifted  up  tall  glasses  of  something 
cold  and  wet,  and  winked  at  each  other.  And 
when  Mary  and  Graham  discovered  that  they 
were  alone,  well,  they  took  advantage  of  that 
fact,  just  as  many  a  young  couple  has  before, 
and  undoubtedly  will  again. 


THE  LAST  LEAF 

In  production  by  Edison  Company. 

In  the  long  summer  afternoons,  and  in  the 
cool  twilight,  old  Grandpa  Holden  used  to  sit 
upon  the  bench  beside  the  door  of  his  vine-clad 
cottage,  his  old  dog  at  his  feet,  and  look  out 
over  the  broad  expanse  of  ocean  before  him, 
and  dream  of  the  days  when  he  was  a  stalwart 
fisherman  among  his  fellows.  His  fellows!  All 
gone  now  —  Silas  and  Martin  and  Reuben  and 
the  rest  —  he  was  the  last  of  them  all  —  and 
yet  it  seemed  but  yesterday!  Eighty  years  didn't 
seem  long  —  when  he  looked  back. 

Mary,  his  little  motherless  granddaughter,  who 
lived  with  him  in  the  cottage,  would  come  and 
light  his  pipe  for  him;  and  they  would  sit,  her 
arm  about  him,  and  watch  for  the  coming  of 
Jacques  —  big,  strong,  handsome  Jacques,  who 
loved  Mary  and  whom  Mary  loved.  Indeed, 
there  was  no  secret  about  it,  and  they  were 
waiting  only  until  Jacques  could  save  enough 
to  buy  his  fishing  smack,  and  he  had  almost 
enough  now.  Jacques  would  come  along  the 

252 


The  Last  Leaf  253 

beach  and  stop  at  the  cottage  and  leave  the 
choicest  of  his  catch  for  them.  Grandpa  would 
insist  on  taking  the  fish  on  the  flimsy  excuse 
that  he  alone  could  clean  them  properly,  and 
bustle  into  the  cottage,  winking  at  Jacques  as 
he  went.  Grandpa  was  not  so  old  that  he  had 
forgotten  that  lovers  like  to  be  alone. 

And  moonlight  nights,  when  Mary  and  Jacques 
strolled  along  the  beach,  he  would  come  to  the 
door  and  follow  them  with  his  eyes  for  a  moment, 
as  though  to  assure  himself  that  no  one  had 
carried  them  off;  then  he  would  chuckle,  rub  his 
hands  in  satisfaction,  look  at  the  sky,  and  shuffle 
off  to  bed. 

Sometimes  he  and  Mary  went  down  to  the 
landing  when  the  boats  sailed  in  the  morning; 
and  often  they  were  there,  with  the  other  folks 
of  the  village,  when  the  boats  returned.  One 
morning,  Grandpa  came  down  to  the  landing  and 
told  the  fishers  that  they  better  wait  a  while 
before  setting  out;  for  his  discerning  old  eyes 
had  seen  something  in  the  sky  that  he  didn't 
like.  But  Jacques  and  the  rest  of  the  hardy 
young  fellows  laughed  goodnaturedly  at  his  fears, 
and  sailed  away,  leaving  Grandpa  shaking  his 
wise,  gray  head  and  tapping  angrily  with  his 
cane.  .  .  . 

The  fog  came  down  upon  the  sea  and  the  shore 
like  a  veil,  and  great  waves  beat  against  the 


254          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

rocky  coast  and  the  landing.  Men  looked  into 
each  other's  faces,  and  could  only  walk  the  shore 
and  blow  the  fog-horn,  to  which  there  was  no 
answer.  And  the  women  —  the  wives  and  the 
sweethearts  —  could  only  sit  and  wait,  and  some 
wept,  for  that  was  their  portion. 

The  boats  never  came  back.  And  many  days, 
Mary  walked  the  beach,  peering  across  the  waters 
for  a  sight  of  her  Jacques,  who  lay  upon  a  float 
ing  spar,  a  hundred  miles  from  any  shore.  Long 
after  they  knew  hope  had  fled,  Grandpa  and  the 
other  old  men  of  the  village  used  to  sail  away 
in  a  "  rescue  '  ship,  anchor  in  some  hidden 
cove,  and  smoke  their  pipes  in  gloomy  silence, 
until  it  was  time  to  return  to  the  anxious  women, 
for  whose  sake  they  sought  what  they  knew  they 
could  never  find! 

And  then,  one  night,  as  they  sat  before  the 
drift-wood  fire  in  the  cottage,  Grandpa  told 
Mary  that  Jacques  and  his  ship  were  only 
memories.  She  rose  and  stood  a  moment,  wild- 
eyed,  and  then  sank  in  a  heap  at  his  feet. 

"  Oh,  Daddy,"  she  sobbed,  "  Jacques  must 
come!  "  The  old  man  tenderly  lifted  her  face 
in  his  hands  and  looked  deep  into  her  eyes  — 
and  she  hid  her  face  upon  his  breast. 

Mary  slowly  disengaged  herself  from  the  old 
man's  arms,  and  with  bowed  head  went  down 
to  the  beach  and  looked  across  the  waters 


The  Last  Leaf  255 

along  the  pathway  of  the  moon.  Surely  that  was 
Jacques  who  beckoned  and  opened  his  arms  to 
her!  "  Yes,  yes,  Jacques,  I  am  coming  to  you!  " 

She  found  the  little  boat  and  pushed  out  and 
threw  away  the  oars.  Jacques  would  guide  her! 
Down  and  down  the  pathway  of  the  moon  she 
drifted  —  further  and  further  from  the  shore  — 
nearer  and  nearer  to  Jacques!  And  then,  there 
was  only  the  pathway  of  the  moon  across  the 
illimitable  sea.  .  .  . 

Many,  many  days,  Grandpa  used  to  hobble 
down  to  the  shore  with  his  old  dog,  and  look 
across  the  waters.  Then  he  would  slowly  turn 
away  and  retrace  his  steps  —  very  feeble  and 
faltering  they  were  now,  and  the  old  dog  fol 
lowed  on  behind. 


THE  HEIR  OF  THE  AGES 

A  Prologue  and  a  Story 
In  Five  Parts 

Written  for  Mr.  House  Peters 

by 
William  Addison  Lathrop 


Following  is  a  complete  scenario,  "The  Heir 
of  the  Ages,"  in  which  is  shown  the  synopsis, 
scene-plot,  cast,  and  the  continuity.  The  con 
tinuity  is  the  actual  development  of  the  story 
into  scenes  from  which  the  director  builds  the 
picture. 

The  theory  of  Transmission  of  Souls  is  too- 
well  known  to  need  any  comment,  and  whether 
it  be  true  or  not  has  nothing  to  do  with  this 
story.  We  do  know,  however,  that  certain  traits, 
both  physical  and  mental,  are  transmitted  or 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation, 
and  there  often  appear  what  are  called  atavisms, 
or  reversions  to  a  type  far  remote  in  the 
line  of  ancestry.  The  dog  and  the  cat  turn 
around  several  times  before  lying  down,  simply 

256 


Pallas-Morosco 


Mr.  House  Peters 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  257 

because  for  thousands  of  years  their  ancestors, 
the  wolf  and  the  tiger,  turned  around  in  exactly 
the  same  manner,  to  press  down  the  grass  and 
rushes  of  the  jungle  into  a  comfortable  bed.  A 
lion,  born  in  captivity,  will  become  infuriated 
at  the  squeak  of  a  monkey,  though  he  has  never 
seen  a  monkey;  because  there  is  a  cell  some 
where  in  his  brain  which  tells  him  that  monkeys 
annoyed  his  ancestors.  We  all  have  flashes,, 
usually  in  dreams,  fragmentary  and  vague,  of  a 
dim  and  distant  past,  inexplicable  on  any  other 
ground  than  as  a  heritage  of  the  years.  Type 
recurrences  are  frequent  and  unmistakable.  Who 
shall  say  that  they  are  not  identities?  It  is  upon 
these  premises  that  this  story  is  based. 

Way  back  in  the  ages,  when  Time  was  young, 
and  the  giant  forces  of  nature  were  still  at  work 
wrinkling  up  the  surface  of  the  cooling  globe 
into  mountains,  and  gouging  out  holes  for  the 
seas,  there  lived  The  Man.  He  had  already 
learned  to  walk  erect,  and  seldom  now  took 
to  the  trees;  he  had  learned  to  make  a  fire,  and 
he  knew  how  to  use  a  few  tools  such  as  a  bow 
and  arrow  and  a  paddle  and  a  stone  hatchet. 
He  lived  in  a  cave  far  up  a  cliff.  He  was  beset 
with  dangers  of  the  most  appalling  kind  at  all 
times,  and  eternal  vigilance  was  the  price  of  his 
life.  He  was  tall  and  strong;  long  of  limb  and 


258          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

lithe;  and  upon  his  body  he  wore  the  skins  of 
the  animals  he  had  slain,  and  upon  his  feet  he 
had  already  begun  to  wear  sandals  with  a  thong 
that  laced  them  to  his  ankles  and  calves  —  he 
didn't  use  his  feet  like  an  extra  pair  of  hands 
any  longer,  and  he  could  protect  them. 

This  particular  Man  had  a  brother  who  lived 
in  the  cave  with  him  —  a  slender  stripling  of 
some  seventeen  or  eighteen  years.  The  Brother 
was  a  weakling  —  as  weaklings  went  in  those 
days.  The  Man  loved  him  and  protected  him, 
and  did  things  for  him  so  often  that  The  Brother 
got  to  expect  it  as  a  right,  and  probably  that  was 
one  reason  why  he  was  weak.  Human  emotions 
were  few  in  those  days ;  Hate  and  Fear  and  Lust 
and  Greed  were  about  the  gamut ;  and  that  made  it 
all  the  more  remarkable  that  The  Man  should 
sacrifice  himself  for  anybody.  But  all  things 
have  a  beginning,  and  maybe  this  was  the  begin 
ning  of  Self-Sacrifice.  The  Man  went  out  into 
the  countless  dangers  of  the  forest  and  the 
mountain,  killed  and  brought  home  the  game; 
then  he  cooked  it,  after  he  had  made  a  fire  — 
which  was  a  tough  job,  rubbing  two  sticks 
together  —  and  then  The  Brother  ate  his  own 
share  and  usually  part  of  The  Man's.  The  Man 
instructed  his  Brother  in  the  use  of  the  bow  and 
the  club  and  the  hatchet,  but  he  never  seemed  to 
get  to  the  point  where  he  could  care  for  himself. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  259 

One  day  as  he  came  through  the  tall  grasses  of 
the  jungle,  The  Man  saw  The  Girl.  He  watched 
her  for  some  time  from  behind  a  tree,  while  she 
platted  the  grasses  into  some  new  style  of  skirt 
and  looked  at  the  effect  in  the  clear  waters  of  the 
stream. 

The  Man  decided  that  he  wanted  her,  and 
therefore  he  took  her.  She  bit  his  arm  with 
her  sharp,  white  teeth  when  he  grabbed  her; 
but  he  didn't  mind  that  (tetanus  hadn't  been 
invented  then),  and  he  bore  her  away,  kicking 
and  squalling;  that  was  the  way  courting  was 
done  in  those  days.  I  am  afraid  that  she  didn't 
kick  or  squall  quite  as  lustily  as  she  could,  either. 
But  it  was  enough  to  bring  to  her  side  two  of  her 
tribe  who  gave  The  Man  battle,  while  she  looked 
on,  with  plenty  of  chance  to  run  away  if  she  had 
really  cared  to  do  so. 

The  battle  was  a  very  unequal  one;  The  Man 
laid  out  his  adversaries  so  that  subsequent  pro 
ceedings  were  of  no  interest  to  them ;  though  one 
of  them  might  have  got  away,  had  not  the  lady 
tripped  him.  Anyway,  The  Man  bore  off  The 
Girl  in  triumph  to  the  cave. 

But  no  sooner  did  Brother  see  her,  than  he 
wanted  her.  For  a  moment,  it  was  a  toss-up 
whether  The  Man  would  wring  Brother's  neck,  or 
beat  his  head  in  with  a  twenty-five  pound  club. 
But  The  Girl  settled  it  by  showing  a  decided 


260          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

preference  for  Brother.  And  so,  although  it  was 
a  pretty  tough  struggle,  he  let  Brother  have  her. 

But  "  When  Poverty  comes  in  at  the  door, 
Love  flies  out  of  the  window. "  That  was  just 
as  true  then  as  it  is  now,  only  they  didn't  put 
it  that  way.  They  found  that  they  still  had  to 
depend  upon  The  Man,  not  only  for  food,  but 
for  protection;  and  as  a  brave  man  is  always  a 
fine  sight,  The  Girl  began  to  look  with  more  and 
more  contempt  upon  her  husband,  and  with  more 
and  more  favor  upon  The  Man  —  but  The  Man 
would  have  none  of  her. 

It  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  time  when  cataclysms 
of  Nature  were  frequent,  and  one  day  The  Man 
stood  upon  a  high  crag,  and  saw  the  elements 
conspire  for  the  destruction  of  the  world.  Before 
they  knew  it,  the  Deluge  was  upon  them.  He 
saw  his  Brother  and  The  Girl  run  in  terror  along 
the  rocky  shore;  and  out  of  force  of  habit,  per 
haps,  he  went  to  their  aid.  He  hid  them  beneath 
the  shelving  rock,  The  Brother  crouching  in 
terror,  while  The  Girl  clung  to  The  Man's  tunic, 
and  the  lightnings  played  about  them;  and  The 
Man  was  not  afraid. 

They  came  to  the  last  refuge,  a  rock  that  rose 
from  the  sea  and  across  which  the  surf  dashed  in 
pitiless  fury.  There  upon  the  rock,  The  Man 
placed  them.  Even  muscles  like  his  can  be 
exhausted,  and  he  felt  his  hold  slipping.  The 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  261 

Brother  only  crouched  and  shivered  in  terror. 
But  The  Girl,  perhaps  the  first  of  her  race  to 
feel  the  touch  of  Human  Sympathy  for  other 
than  her  own  flesh  and  blood,  reached  down  to 
help  The  Man  as  he  buffeted  the  storm.  And 
when  his  hold  loosened  and  he  slipped  down  into 
the  black  waters,  she  leaped  from  the  rock  with 
opened,  eager  arms  that  clasped  about  his  neck, 
and  eyes  that  looked  into  his  —  perhaps  for 
Eternity. 

THE   STORY 

Time  unrolled  the  scroll  of  the  year  until  a 
million,  or  more,  if  you  will,  had  passed.  The 
world  was  old  and  gray  now,  and  the  same  forces 
of  Nature,  with  wonderful  alchemy,  had  wrinkled 
up  the  Sierras  and  the  Eockies,  and  had  hid 
gold  in  their  bosoms  for  men  to  find.  Some 
discouraged  prospectors  had  struck  a  rich  vein 
when  they  were  about  ready  to  quit,  but  had  tried 
"  just  once  more,"  and  a  town  had  sprung  up 
like  a  mushroom  in  the  night.  They  called  the 
town  Last  Chance. 

Hugh  Payne,  superintendent  of  The  Golconda, 
sat  in  his  bungalow,  which  was  only  a  little 
better  than  a  shack,  at  least  outside,  buried  deep 
in  a  book.  The  room  was  filled  with  books  and 


262          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

rugs  and  heads  and  skins,  appointments  of  luxury 
in  that  place.  From  the  windows  he  could  see 
the  town  below,  with  the  usual  streets  of  saloons 
and  dance  halls;  with  its  "  Forty-Second  St.  and 
Broadway, "  "  St.  Regis,"  "  Delmonico's,"  "  Eat 
Here  and  Die  Outside,"  and  kindred  expressions 
of  humor. 

The  principal  place  where  a  variety  of  evil 
things  could  be  indulged  in  was  called  "  The 
Square  Deal."  It  was  run  by  one  Kearney,  a 
semi-handsome  and  totally  depraved  scoundrel, 
who  made  it  his  business  to  pander  to  as  many 
vices  as  it  is  possible  to  crowd  under  one  roof. 

Among  the  bedraggled  and  bedecked  harlots 
that  frequented  the  place  was  one  who  bore  the 
sobriquet  of  "  The  Duchess."  She  stood  out 
among  the  others  like  a  diamond  in  a  coal  heap. 
Her  perfect,  beautiful  face,  with  its  ingenuous, 
baby  stare,  concealed  a  disposition  and  morals 
that  would  have  shocked  Messalina.  Kearney 
exercised  a  sort  of  proprietorship  over  her, 
though  his  tenure  was  never  very  secure,  and  in 
one  way  or  another,  she  was  the  real  boss  of  the 
place.  She  would  order  a  drink,  and  if  it  didn't 
quite  suit  her  fancy,  she  would  dash  glass  and 
all  into  the  waiter's  face,  and  smile  seraphically 
as  she  watched  someone  wipe  the  blood  from 
the  wounded  man  —  and  no  one  said  her  nay. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  263 

The  dive  and  the  town  were  about  as  sordid 
and  as  interesting  as  such  dives  and  towns 
usually  are.  But  there  were  certain  people  about 
to  come  to  town  who  made  it  interesting  enough. 
Along  the  steep  mountain  trail  came  Penelope 
Agatha  Spottiswoode  Hope  —  she  was  about  five 
feet  three,  with  all  that  name!  When  people 
had  known  her  five  minutes,  they  called  her 
"  Missy  "  —  everybody  did. 

With  Missy  were  a  pack  mule  and  Missy's 
father,  Beverly  Hope,  a  sad  and  negative  little 
man,  the  gentlest,  most  submissive  thing  in  the 
world  —  to  Missy  —  but  of  a  sort  that  is  hardly 
worth  putting  into  a  census.  He  had  always 
been  a  prospector,  and  always  would  be;  his  one 
aim  in  life  being  to  acquire  enough  to  live 
miserably  and  to  keep  "  pickled,"  as  Missy  put 
it.  Missy  was  exactly  the  opposite  —  bright, 
pretty,  energetic,  ragged,  and  seventeen. 

The  Hopes  took  domicile  in  an  old,  abandoned 
cabin  in  the  hills ;  Beverly  patching  it  up  a  little 
outside,  and  Missy  making  the  inside  almost 
inviting  with  her  feminine  touch.  They  didn't 
really  expect  callers,  though  they  had  created  a 
mild  sensation  as  they  went  through  the  town, 
and  the  Duchess  and  some  of  the  other  girls  had 
quite  a  laugh,  much  to  Missy's  indignation. 

But  they  had  a  caller,  very  soon,  and  a  most 
important  one.  Hugh  Payne,  having  settled  a 


r 

264          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

quarrel  at  the  mine  between  two  men  who  had 
drawn  knives,  but  who  didn't  really  want  to 
fight  —  Hugh  told  them  that  if  they  ever  started 
anything  again  he  would  make  them  fight  —  rode 
idly  down  the  trail.  Near  the  spring,  he  saw 
Missy,  who  was  arranging  her  hair  and  her 
dress  after  the  manner  of  a  fashion  sheet  of  a 
magazine  she  had  found  in  the  abandoned  shack, 
and  admiring  her  reflection  in  the  water.  Hugh 
didn't  know  of  Missy's  existence  until  that  min 
ute;  but  after  he  had  watched  her  for  a  time, 
he  rode  up  and  startled  her  not  a  little.  But 
Missy  was  used  to  men,  and  in  a  few  moments 
Hugh  had  dismounted  and  they  were  sitting  on 
the  ground  near  the  spring,  talking  with  great 
interest.  It  was  some  time  before  Hope  came 
back  to  the  cabin  and  called  Missy.  She  started 
up  and  was  going  home  without  the  water  for 
which  she  had  come.  Hugh  called  attention  to 
the  empty  bucket,  and  they  had  a  great  laugh. 
Hugh  filled  it,  and  they  started  away  again,  and 
this  time  Missy  called  Hugh's  attention  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  forgotten  the  horse;  he  went 
back  and  got  it ;  and  leading  the  horse  and  carry 
ing  the  pail,  Hugh  came  back  to  the  cabin  with 
the  girl. 

Old  Man  Hope  invited  him  in  hospitably,  and 
Hugh  accepted.  He  noticed  a  small  shelf  of 
books,  four  in  all,  and  asked  Missy  if  she  were 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  265 

fond  of  them.  "  0,  yes,  indeed/'  said  Missy. 
Hugh  asked  her  which  of  the  four  she  preferred, 
and  after  some  hesitation,  she  indicated  her 
favorite.  Hugh  took  out  the  volume  and  saw 
that  the  title  was  '  *  Geodetic  Survey  of  Arizona. ' ' 
He  was  puzzled,  but  Missy  changed  the  subject 
cleverly ;  and  soon  they  were  seated  with  Old  Man 
Hope  by  the  fire,  who  talked  to  Hugh  glibly, 
though  it  must  be  confessed  that  Hugh  was  so 
absorbed  in  looking  at  Missy  that  once  or  twice 
some  slight  confusion  resulted  from  his  replies 
to  the  questions  of  Mr.  Hope. 

Back  East,  Larry  Payne,  Hugh's  younger 
brother,  was  making  ducks  and  drakes  of  the 
last  of  his  fortune.  He  came  out,  in  pajamas 
and  dressing-gown,  into  his  sitting  room,  this 
morning,  and  it  had  evidently  been  a  rough  night. 
He  sat  in  his  chair,  after  Higgins,  the  valet,  had 
mixed  a  couple  of  cocktails,  and  thought  it  over. 
It  was  a  jumble  of  poker,  wine,  ladies,  and  auto 
mobiles.  Higgins  interrupted  the  dream  by  say 
ing,  apologetically,  "  Beg  pawdon,  Mr.  Payne, 
Sir,  but  several  of  these  people  are  getting  quite 
importunate,  Sir."  (Larry  had  just  thrown  a 
package  of  mail,  all  bills,  into  the  waste  basket.) 
"  In  fact,  I  might  say,  beggin'  your  pawdon, 
Sir,  violent. " 

Then  the  telephone  rang,  before  Larry  could 
reply,  and  Higgins,  in  response  to  a  frantic  wave 


266  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

of  Larry's  hand,  said  that  Larry  was  not  in. 
The  person  at  the  other  end  must  have  said 
something  altogether  unpleasant,  for  Higgins 
hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  shocked  air.  *  *  Never 
mind,"  said  Larry,  "  I'll  write  to  Brother  Hugh 
if  I  get  time  today  and  he'll  come  across  with 
enough  to  tide  me  over  until  I  can  get  that 
mortgage  through."  Higgins  had  to  be  satisfied 
with  that,  and  Larry  lapsed  again  into  revery. 

The  letter  to  "  Brother  Hugh  "  came  in  due 
time,  and  when  Hugh  got  it  he  was  in  ill  humor. 
He  read  it  as  he  was  passing  the  Square  Deal 
and  Kearney  hailed  him:  "  What's  the  trouble, 
Payne  f  Bad  news  ?  Come  in  and  have  a  drink. ' ' 
Hugh  looked  slowly  up  from  the  letter;  then, 
walking  close  to  the  man,  he  said,  "  Mr.  Payne 
for  yours,  Kearney.  Yes,  very  bad  news.  I've 
got  a  younger  brother  who  is  being  speeded  on  his 
way  to  hell  by  just  such  scoundrels  as  you.  Come 
along,  I'll  go  you  on  that  drink." 

Hugh  had  never  been  in  the  Square  Deal 
before,  and  his  entrance  caused  no  little  sensa 
tion.  "  The  Duchess  "  spotted  him  from  afar 
and  marked  him  for  her  own.  He  stood  at  the 
bar  —  he  wasn't  a  drinker,  but  you  never  can 
tell  what  a  Cave  Man  will  do  —  and  drank  half 
a  dozen  drinks,  for  which  he  paid,  denying 
Kearney  that  privilege. 

Then  "  The  Duchess  "  joined  them;  she  put 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  267 

her  baby  face  up  to  Hugh's  and  said  impudently, 
"  So,  you've  dropped  in  to  see  us  at  last,  Mr. 
Goliath.  We  thought  you  were  a  woman-hating 
prohibitionist. "  Hugh  looked  at  her  gravely  and 
steadily,  and  she  was  uncomfortable  under  his 
gaze.  Then  he  deliberately  drained  his  glass, 
looking  over  her  head. 

"  Kearney, "  he  said,  "  if  this  lady  is  a  friend 
of  yours,  you  better  advise  her  to  withdraw,  as 
I'm  about  to  start  something. " 

Over  at  adjoining  tables  were  the  two  miners 
who  had  evinced  a  desire  to  fight  a  few  days 
before.  They  were  belligerent  again,  but  it 
seemed  unlikely  that  they  would  come  to  blows. 
Hugh  walked  over  to  them  —  they  saw  him  too 
late  —  though  they  tried  to  get  away.  Hugh 
grabbed  them,  hurled  them  to  the  floor,  flung 
the  tables  and  chairs  away  until  he  had  cleared 
a  space,  making  havoc  with  the  furniture,  and 
then  —  well,  he  made  them  fight.  As  either 
showed  signs  of  quitting,  one  look  at  Hugh  made 
him  go  at  the  other  man,  instead  of  taking  a 
chance  with  "  The  Cave  Man."  Two  or  three 
who  attempted  to  interfere  were  glad  enough  to 
get  away  alive  —  Kearney  knew  too  much  to  try 
it  —  and  the  most  interested  spectator  was  ' i  The 
Duchess  "!  From  that  moment,  she  belonged  to 
Hugh,  body  and  soul  —  and  all  the  more  because 
he  ignored  her.  And  when  Nero  was  through 


268          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

with  his  Roman  Holiday,  he  walked  out  of  the 
place.  And  he  had  left  an  impression.  Yet  he 
could  not  have  told  you  why  he  did  it ! 

Midnight  found  him  drawing  a  cheque  for  five 
hundred  dollars  to  Brother's  order.  He  wrote 
several  letters  to  accompany  it,  but  he  tore  them 
up  in  turn,  and  sent  the  cheque  alone  in  the 
envelope. 

Meanwhile,  Hugh  had  brought  Missy  an  armful 
of  books,  carefully  selected.  One  morning,  she 
decided  to  return  them.  She  came  to  Hugh's 
bungalow,  gay  in  new  shoes,  stockings,  and  gown, 
bright  and  early  in  the  morning.  She  knocked 
and  got  no  response.  She  went  around  and 
climbed  into  the  window.  She  liked  the  place, 
first  rate,  and  examined  most  of  the  things.  Then 
she  started  toward  the  inner  door;  Hugh,  who 
had  been  awakened,  called  out,  asking  who  was 
there. 

"  It's  me,"  said  Missy,  regardless  of  Lindley 
Murray,  "  can  I  come  in?  "  Hugh  bounced  out 
of  bed  and  braced  himself  against  the  door  in  a 
panic.  He  shouted  directions  to  her  through  the 
closed  door,  and  Missy  sat  down  to  wait.  He 
came  out,  and  she  told  him  that  she  had  brought 
back  the  books  and  that  they  were  "  lovely." 

' '  Which  did  you  like  best?"  asked  Hugh. 
Missy  selected  one  from  the  lot  and  opened  it 
embarrassedly.  Hugh  asked  her  to  read  from  it 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  269 

to  him ;  she  looked  at  him  in  mute  helplessness  — 
the  book  was  upside  down  in  her  hands!  Missy 
bowed  her  poor  little  head  upon  the  table,  and 
Hugh  felt  like  the  big  brute  he  was. 

And  so  it  was  agreed  that  Hugh  should  under 
take  her  education;  and  spurred  on  by  the 
inspiration  of  love,  she  was  an  apt  pupil.  Old 
Man  Hope  was  pressed  into  service  by  the 
insistent  Missy,  though  he  would  much  rather 
have  been  at  the  Square  Deal.  Occasionally  he 
did  manage  to  get  away.  He  came  stumbling 
home  one  time  when  Hugh  was  before  the  cabin 
with  Missy  at  the  daily  lesson.  He  was  extrava 
gantly  polite  to  Hugh  and  to  Missy,  but  he 
stubbed  his  toe  getting  into  the  cabin. 

"  No,"  said  Missy,  in  answer  to  Hugh's  inquir 
ing  look,  "  I  don't  reckon  I  need  any  help.  He's 
always  gentle  and  minds  me  like  a  child,  but  I 
can't  watch  him  all  the  time.  When  he  gets  good 
and  pickled,  he  quits  for  a  while.  He'll  be  good 
now  for  a  spell,  for  he's  sure  plastered." 

Often,  Hope  tried  to  get  out,  after  Missy  had 
gone  up  the  ladder  to  her  bed  in  the  loft. 
Usually,  when  he  decided  that  the  coast  was  clear 
and  was  tip-toeing  across  the  floor,  with  his  hat 
on  and  his  boots  in  his  hand,  on  his  way  to  the 
Square  Deal,  Missy,  in  her  night  dress,  would 
appear  at  the  top  of  the  ladder;  and  the  Old 
Man  would  cough  apologetically,  march  straight 


270          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

back,  and  begin  to  undress  in  earnest.  And  all 
the  while,  the  bond  between  Hugh  and  Missy 
grew  stronger  and  stronger  —  there  was  some 
thing  of  the  Cave  People  in  each. 

And  just  at  this  time,  Last  Chance  had  an 
important  addition  to  its  population  —  Larry! 
The  Sheriff  was  getting  too  close  for  comfort  in 
New  York,  and  he  decided  that  the  West  offered 
opportunities  to  a  youth  of  his  talents  and  pro 
clivities. 

It  did.  He  blew  in  on  Hugh  one  evening  at 
the  bungalow,  and  Hugh  was  genuinely  glad  to 
see  him;  especially  after  Larry  said  that  he  had 
come  West  to  make  a  man  of  himself  and  wanted 
a  job.  Larry  had  stopped  at  the  Square  Deal 
on  his  way  up  to  Hugh's  cottage,  and  had  made 
himself  popular  at  once  —  and  with  "  The 
Duchess,"  too.  Kearney  didn't  like  it  much, 
but  he  realized  that  it  was  only  the  usual  process 
of  skinning  a  "  sucker,"  and  let  it  go  at  that. 
But  that  wasn't  right  — "  The  Duchess"  was 
shooting  high,  and  she  considered  the  Paynes 
about  the  right  sort  for  her  to  tie  to. 

Then  came  a  telegram  calling  Hugh  to  the 
main  offices  of  the  mine  in  San  Francisco  — 
Larry  was  in  possession.  And  he  made  a  lot  of 
use  of  it.  The  next  morning,  as  he  sat  at  break 
fast,  in  walked  Missy  with  some  books.  They 
looked  at  each  other  in  astonishment. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  271 

Larry  recovered  first.  "  All  the  comforts  of 
a  home!  "  quoth  he.  "  Hugh  certainly  has  a 
nice  place!  "  He  swept  the  little  mountain  girl 
off  her  feet  with  his  voluble  attentions;  and  at 
length,  after  she  had  declined  an  invitation  to 
sit  down  and  visit,  or  to  have  a  little  breakfast, 
or  a  drink,  or  something,  he  decided  that  she 
must  have  some  more  books,  and  he  elected  him 
self  to  select  them  and  to  carry  them  to  her  home 
for  her.  And  inside  of  half  an  hour,  he  was 
sitting  perfectly  at  ease  before  Missy's  cabin, 
in  Hugh's  old  place,  telling  the  bewildered  but 
pleased  Missy  all  about  New  York  and  the  tall 
buildings,  and  what  a  devil  of  a  fellow  he  was. 

Evenings  —  the  early  part,  that  is  —  would  find 
him  at  the  Hope  cabin  with  a  line  of  entertaining 
conversation,  which  Old  Man  Hope  enjoyed. 
When  he  left,  Missy  went  to  the  dooryard  with 
him,  and  he  pointed  out  the  big  bright  stars  and 
told  her  that  her  eyes  made  them  look  foolish. 
And  after  a  month  —  in  which  the  accomplished 
city  man  wooed  the  simple  little  girl  of  the  moun 
tains  with  all  the  arts  at  his  command  —  he 
hadn't  made  a  dent  in  the  armor  of  her  love  for 
Hugh,  though  the  ass  thought  she  was  his  for  the 
asking ! 

The  latter  part  of  the  evenings  he  spent  at  the 
Square  Deal.  He  played  a  little  roulette,  with 
"  The  Duchess  "  standing  back  of  his  chair;  and 


272  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

put  down  a  bet  for  her  now  and  then,  which 
always  won,  and  she  rewarded  him  with  a  kiss  — 
much  to  Kearney's  disgust.  And  he  made  him 
self,  withal,  "  a  good  fellow. " 

Finally,  when  he  thought  the  time  was  ripe,  he 
asked  Missy  to  marry  him.  She  ran  away  from 
him  laughing;  but  Larry  put  it  down  to  bashful 
maidenhood  —  she  didn  't  say  '  *  No, ' '  anyway, 
and  he  was  satisfied  that  she  was  his. 

That  night,  when  Hugh  got  home  —  he  had 
been  wrestling  with  gray-haired  directors  in 
Frisco  until  he  had  brought  them  to  his  way  of 
thinking  —  and  was  just  sitting  down  to  a  bounti 
ful  dinner  that  the  Chink  had  prepared,  Larry 
cut  in  —  "  Old  Man,  I  have  some  news  for  you, 
tlint  I'm  sure  you'll  be  glad  to  hear.  You  often 
said  that  the  best  thing  I  could  do  would  be  to 
marry:  that  it  would  steady  me.  I'm  going 
to  take  your  advice.  I'm  going  to  marry  Missy 
Hope.  I  know  she  is  rather  below  us,  but  she's 
the  goods." 

Hugh  was  toying  with  a  fork;  he  stopped  and 
looked  at  Larry.  Right  there,  Larry  never  knew 
how  close  he  came  to  being  strangled;  but  The 
Man  smothered  the  volcano  within  him. 

At  length  he  said,  "  Have  you  asked  her?  " 

Larry  laughed.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  and  she 
didn't  say  '  No.'  "  Slowly  the  old  instinct  of 
self-sacrifice  and  love  for  his  brother  gained  the 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  273, 

mastery;  and  through  the  Strong  Man's  brain 
there  flitted  the  dim  and  shadowy  echo  of  a 
memory  —  it  was  something  about  a  cave  wherein 
a  young  man  and  a  young  woman  looked  into 
each  other's  faces,  and  a  big  strong  man  turned 
slowly  away  and  went  out  into  the  night. 

The  volatile  Larry,  wrapped  in  himself,  did 
not  notice  the  volcano  within  his  brother;  and 
with  a  cheery  "  So  long!  I'm  off  to  see  her 
now,"  he  left,  after  selecting  a  few  books  to 
take  with  him. 

The  dinner  was  untouched;  the  Chinaman 
pussy-footed  in,  but  he  took  one  good  look  at 
Hugh,  and  pussy-footed  right  out.  And  when 
Hugh  came  back  to  himself,  the  heavy  silver 
fork  was  twisted  and  knotted  in  his  powerful 
hands. 

And  that  night,  as  Hugh  strode  aimlessly 
through  the  woods,  crashing  into  things,  he  got 
what  seemed  to  him  confirmation.  He  saw  Missy 
and  Larry  before  the  Hope  cabin,  the  light  from 
the  open  door  behind  them.  They  were  so  far 
away  that  he  could  not  hear  what  was  said. 
Larry  was  talking  earnestly  to  Missy  and  was 
holding  her  hands,  while  she  looked  up  into  his 
face.  Hugh  turned  away,  sick  at  heart. 

And  yet,  if  he  could  only  have  heard,  Missy 
was  telling  Larry  that  "  she  didn't  care  for  him 
that  way,  and  that  he  mustn't  ask  her  again!  "' 


274          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Larry  went  straight  from  Missy  to  the  Square 
Deal! 

Hugh,  in  the  shadows,  saw  him  go  down  the 
trail  to  the  town,  and  followed  him  without 
knowing  why.  Missy  went  back  into  the  cabin 
and  Old  Man  Hope  was  not  there !  He  had  taken 
the  opportunity  to  slip  out,  and  Missy  started 
out  determinedly  to  collect  him  and  "  cash  him 
in."  And  so  the  three  came  to  the  Square  Deal. 
Larry  came  first;  there  were  few  there  —  Kear 
ney  being  among  those  absent.  Larry  inquired 
for  "  The  Duchess ;"  she  was  upstairs  in  her 
room,  the  girls  told  him.  Larry  took  a  chance 
and  went  up,  though  he  knew  that  Kearney  would 
murder  him  if  he  were  caught.  He  found  "  The 
Duchess  "  preening  herself  for  the  evening's 
conquests,  and  she  welcomed  and  admired  his 
temerity.  Hugh  had  seen  Larry  go  into  the 
saloon,  and  he  followed,  wondering.  A  man  at 
the  bar  told  him  that  Larry  had  gone  upstairs  to 
see  "  The  Duchess,"  and  that  there  would  very 
probably  be  quite  a  little  excitement  if  Kearney 
came  in.  Hugh  left  his  drink  untasted,  and 
strode  up  the  stairs. 

He  had  hardly  disappeared,  when  Missy  came 
in  timidly,  looking  for  her  father.  The  girls 
gathered  round  her;  one  of  them  said,  "  Why 
don't  you  go  upstairs  and  see  your  friend,  Mr. 
Payne?  He  is  calling  on  '  The  Duchess  M  " 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  275 

Missy  said  it  was  a  lie;  but  the  girls  told  her 
that  she  better  go  up  to  see.  There  was  a  little 
of  The  Cave  Woman  in  Missy,  and  she  went. 
Hugh  had  opened  the  door  of  "  The  Duchess*  " 
room,  and  there  were  she  and  Larry  in  animated 
conversation.  Hugh  said  nothing,  only  looked. 
Larry  stammered  some  kind  of  excuse,  and  Hugh 
came  into  the  room  and  Larry  and  "  The 
Duchess  "  turned  to  him,  for  his  face  was  ominous. 

Then  at  the  door,  appeared  Missy.  She  saw 
them  all,  but  none  save  Hugh  saw  her.  The  old 
instinct  again  —  he  must  * t  cover  ' '  Larry !  Hugh 
put  his  arm  about  "  The  Duchess  "  and  said  to 
Larry,  "  No,  Larry,  I  won't  go  home  with  you. 
You  have  no  right  to  interfere  with  me.  This 
is  my  girl  and  I'm  going  to  stay  here!  ' 

Missy  stepped  into  the  room  and  they  all  saw 
her  now.  "  The  Duchess  "  nestled  comfortably 
against  Hugh's  broad  breast.  There  was  horror 
in  Missy's  eyes  as  she  heard  and  saw.  She 
looked  at  Hugh  for  a  moment,  and  then,  covering 
her  face  with  her  hands,  she  fled  from  the  room. 
At  a  sign  from  Hugh,  Larry  slunk  after  her. 

Once  they  were  gone,  Hugh  flung  "  The 
Duchess  "  from  him.  It  is  probable  that  in  her 
infatuation  for  him,  she  really  thought  Hugh 
meant  what  he  said!  But  as  she  lay  on  the  floor, 
she  looked  at  him  and  read  the  truth  in  his  face 
—  and  she  admired  him  all  the  more !  Kearney 


276          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

burst  into  the  room  with  drawn  revolver,  and 
there  was  little  doubt  that  he  intended  to  use  it. 
Hugh  looked  calmly  at  him,  and  he  raged.  There 
is  always  something  very  disconcerting  to  a 
coward  in  a  brave  man's  steady,  unf earing  look. 
This  was  no  exception,  and  Kearney  felt  his 
nerve  slipping;  he  was  bluffed,  and  he  knew  it. 

"  Kearney, "  said  Hugh  calmly,  "  if  you  ever 
shot  me  with  that  thing  and  I  found  it  out,  I 
might  do  you  some  harm.  Better  put  it  up  before 
I  take  it  away  from  you.  I'm  leaving  now.  You 
didn't  think  "  (indicating  "  The  Duchess  ") 
"  that  I  wanted  that  —  carrion,  did  you?  "  And 
he  strode  out  of  the  room,  turning  his  back  upon 
the  raging  Kearney. 

Kearney  looked  at  "  The  Duchess,"  and  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  contempt  in  her  face  —  or 
in  her  words,  either  —  she  said  something  about 
"  class  "  telling.  With  an  oath,  the  spell  having 
been  broken,  Kearney  rushed  after  Hugh.  He 
had  gone  part  way  across  the  dance  floor  which 
was  now  crowded,  many  having  heard  of  the 
mix-up  and  come  in  through  curiosity.  Missy 
was  looking  for  her  father,  of  whom  she  had 
caught  a  glimpse,  and  Larry  was  trying  to  make 
up  his  mind  to  tell  Missy  the  truth  about  the 
whole  affair. 

Kearney  ran  part  way  down  the  stairs  and 
fired  at  Hugh.  Hugh  turned,  the  Cave  Man  in 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  277 

him  aroused,  and  dashed  back  toward  the  stairs 
up  which  Kearney  retreated  before  him,  firing 
again.  Hugh  kept  right  on  and  Kearney  ran 
along  the  hall  and  into  "  The  Duchess's  "  room, 
Hugh  after  him.  There  was  pandemonium  in  the 
big  hall.  Larry  had  managed  to  make  Missy 
understand  that  it  was  he  who  was  the  renegade, 
and  that  Hugh  had  come  there  to  save  him. 
Score  one  decent  thing  for  Larry.  Missy  went 
frantic. 

"  He  came  here  to  save  you  —  why  don't  you 
try  to  save  him  —  or  let  me?  "  and  she  tried  to 
get  to  Hugh  up  the  stairs,  but  Larry  held  her, 
afraid  to  go  himself !  In  *  *  The  Duchess 's  ' '  room 
Kearney  dodged  around,  and  "  The  Duchess  " 
ran  toward  Hugh  to  protect  him.  Kearney  shot, 
and  "  The  Duchess  "  fell.  Hugh  turned  to  look 
at  her  and  Kearney  took  careful  aim;  but  "  The 
Duchess, "  half  rising,  grasped  a  lamp  from  the 
table  and  threw  it  at  Kearney,  and  the  room  was 
dark,  save  the  dim  light  from  the  hall.  There 
was  the  flash  of  the  pistol,  but  in  the  dim  shad 
ows,  silhouetted  in  the  gloom,  "  The  Duchess  " 
saw,  with  closing  eyes,  Hugh's  hands  close  on 
Kearney's  throat,  and  with  her  dying  ears  she 
heard  bones  crack  under  the  grip  of  the  giant. 

The  flames  started,  but  Hugh  did  not  let  go 
until  he  knew  that  Kearney  would  never  trouble 
anybody  again;  and  by  that  time  the  room  was 


278  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

full  of  smoke.  He  bent  over  "  The  Duchess," 
and  he  knew  that  she  was  dead.  He  groped  his 
way  to  the  hall,  carrying  the  dead  woman.  In 
the  panic  in  the  dance  hall,  Larry  had  been 
knocked  down,  and  Missy  was  hemmed  in  by  an 
overturned  table,  while  men  scrambled  over  them. 

Hugh  fought  his  way  out  to  the  street,  and  Old 
Man  Hope  came  up  with  shrieking  treble,  and 
told  him  that  Larry  and  Missy  were  still  in  the 
furnace.  Hugh  fought  his  way  back,  and  groped 
in  the  smoke  and  flame  and  falling  timbers  till 
he  found  them.  A  beam  had  fallen  across  Larry, 
but  Hugh  brushed  it  aside,  and  taking  Larry  and 
the  unconscious  Missy  in  his  arms,  he  staggered 
toward  the  door.  Across  his  blinded  vision,  there 
came  the  dim  and  shadowy  picture  of  a  rock  in 
the  Deluge,  and  upon  it  a  Man  placed  a  Youth 
and  a  Girl.  Only  the  thousandth  part  of  a  second 
did  he  see  it,  and  it  was  vague  and  dim. 

He  got  to  the  open  air,  how,  he  never  knew, 
and  fiercely  rejecting  all  offers  of  assistance,  he 
gently  laid  his  burdens  down.  Larry  lay,  very 
white  and  still,  but  to  Missy  there  came  return 
ing  consciousness.  Hugh  looked  upon  the  dead 
face  of  his  Brother,  and  agony  came  into  his 
eyes.  Missy  crawled  to  his  feet;  and  on  her 
knees,  she  took  his  hand  in  hers.  Hugh  looked 
into  her  face,  and  each  knew  that  the  other 
understood. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  279 


THE  HEIR  OF  THE  AGES 

THE  CHARACTERS 

IN  THE  PROLOGUE 
THE  MAN 
His  BROTHER 
THE  GIRL 
Two  SAVAGES  AND  A  WOMAN 

IN  THE  STORY 

HUGH  PAYNE An  Atavism.  Superintendent  of  the 

Golconda  mine  in  Last  Chance, 
California 

PENELOPE  AGATHA  Known  to  everybody  as  "Missy."  Sev- 

SPOTTISWOODE  HOPE enteen,  and  daughter  of  a  mining 

prospector. 

LARRY  PAYNE Hugh's  brother.    A  type. 

THE  DUCHESS "A  lady  with  a  character  and  gown 

decollete" 

KEARNEY A  semi-handsome  and  totally  depraved 

scoundrel,  proprietor  of  The  Square 
Deal  Saloon,  Gambling  Joint  and 
Dance  Hall.  (And  worse.) 

OLD  MAN  HOPE Missy's  father 

SHORTY A  hanger-on  at  The  Square  Deal 

HIGGINS .Larry's  valet 

SING  LEE Hugh's  cook 

Foreman  of  the  Mine,  Miners,  People  at  The  Square  Deal — men 
and  girls — Board  of  Directors,  Waiters,  Bartender 


280          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

SCENE-PLOT 

Scenes  in  Prologue. 

Interior  of  cave— 15,  16,  17,  36,  38,  39,  40,  41,  42,  44. 

All  other  scenes  in  Prologue  are  picturesque  exteriors. 
Scenes  in  Story. 

Interior.  Hugh's  cabin— 62,  63,  64,  121,  122,  123, 
131,  133,  135,  137,  157,  159,  170,  171,  172,  173. 

Interior.  Hugh's  bedroom— 129,  132,  134,  136. 

Exterior.    Hugh's  cabin— 128,  130. 

Exterior.  Street  in  mining  town— 65,  82,  83,  84,  85, 
86,  113,  114,  139,  140,  141,  142,  143,  144  145,  146,  147, 
148,  183. 

Exterior.  Square  Deal  Saloon— 66,  67,  68,  69,  70,  71, 
72,  120,  138,  149,  155,  190,  201a,  204,  206,  207. 

Interior.  Square  Deal  Saloon— 73,  74,  75,  76,  77,  115, 
116,  117,  118,  119,  156,  167,  186,  189,  192,  193,  195,  198, 
199,  201,  202,  203,  205. 

Exterior.  Mountain  trails— 78,  79,  80,  81,  97,  100, 
127,  159,  181,  182,  184. 

Exterior.  Picturesque  spots,  the  spring,  etc. — 98,  99, 
101,  102,  103,  105,  169,  174. 

Exterior.  Hope 's  cabin  and  nearby  trail — 87,  96,  104, 
106,  124,  150,  161,  165,  175,  177,  178,  179. 

Interior.  Hope's  cabin— 88,  89,  107,  108,  109,  110, 
111,  112,  125,  151,  152,  153,  154,  164,  166,  176,  180. 

Interior.  The  Duchess'  room— 185,  188,  194,  197, 
198a. 

Interior.  Hall  outside  Duchess'  room— 187,  191,  196, 
200. 

Exterior.     Railroad  station— 162,  163. 

Exterior.     Mining  offices — 90,  95. 

Exterior.    Near  shaft— 91,  92,  93,  94,  160. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  281 

Interior.     Any  large  room — 168. 

Exterior.     Street  in  suburbs  of  any  city — 112d. 

Interior.  Larry's  rooms  in  New  York — 112a,  112c, 
112e,  126. 

Interior.  Any  handsomely  furnished  room  for  vision 
in  Scene  112b. 


CONTINUITY 

Sub-Title.    WHEN  THE  WORLD  WAS  YOUNG. 

Scene  1.    Vast  and  cragged  rocks.    Far  view. 

Scenv  2.     The  jungle — wild  and  picturesque. 

Scene  3.  Any  striking  scenes  of  wild  and  picturesque 
nature — water-fall,  distant  smoking  volcano,  etc. 
(Probably  many  such  scenes  are  in  stock.)  One  or 
two  scenes  of  the  ocean ;  the  surf  beating,  etc. 

Scene  4.  Huge  serpent  crawls  among  the  rocks.  Flash. 
Near  view. 

Scene  5.     Repeat  flash  of  4,  another  location. 

Scene  6.  Lion  prowls  in  jungle.  Near  view.  (Any  wild 
animal — in  fact,  if  too  difficult  to  obtain,  the  animal 
scenes  may  be  omitted,  though  they  would  undoubt 
edly  give  color  to  the  picture.) 

Scene  7.  At  the  drinking  pool.  Night.  Picturesque 
pool  in  glade.  Animals  drink  at  pool.  Far  and  near 
views. 

Scene  8.    Far  view  of  high  cliffs.    Flash.    Night. 

Scene  9.  Base  of  cliffs.  Night.  Wild  animal  prowls. 
Near  view.  Flash.  Fade  out. 

Scene  10.  Interior.  Cave.  Open  diaphragm  to  near- 
view  of  The  Man  as  he  bends  over  the  dried  leaves, 
starting  fire  by  friction;  hold  a  few  feet,  then  open 
to  His  Brother  half  reclining  on  floor  of  cave  watching ; 


Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

hold  a  few  feet,  then  open  to  full  view  of  interior  of 
cave;  both  men  clad  in  skins  and  sandals;  bows  and 
arrows,  clubs,  skins,  etc.  One  duck  by  fire;  as  soon 
as  fire  is  started,  man  prepares  to  cook  the  duck. 

Scene  11.     Flash  of  lion  as  he  prowls  at  foot  of  cliff. 
.e  as  9. 

Scene  12.  Interior.  Cave,  same  as  10.  Night.  Light 
from  fire.  Full  view.  Man  hears  animal;  rises  and 
goes  to  mouth  of  cave,  followed  by  His  Brother,  who 
is  plainly  timid. 

Scene  13.  Near  view  of  mouth  of  cave  taken  from  with 
out.  Night.  Main  light  from  behind;  partial  light 
on  the  two  faces.  The  Man  stands,  club  in  hand  at 
mouth  of  cave,  looking  out  into  the  night ;  behind  him 
cowers  His  Brother,  manifestly  afraid,  but  with  con 
fidence  in  The  Man. 

:\t  14.     Base  of  cliff,  same  as  9.    Night.    Flash.  Lion 
turns  away. 

Scene  15.  Interior.  Cave,  same  as  10.  Light  from  fire. 
Man  and  His  Brother  return  to  fire  from  mouth  of 
cave;  The  Man  cooks  the  duck. 

Sub-Title.    THE  BEGINNING  OP  UN.-ELFI.SHNESB. 

Scene  16.  Interior.  Cave,  same  as  10.  Near  view.  Night. 
Light  from  fire.  Man  and  His  Brother  eating  duck; 
Brother  has  finished  his  share ;  looks  enviously  at  the 
portion  The  Man  still  has;  crawls  nearer  and  asks 
for  it.  Man  considers  for  some  time,  then  hands  it 
to  Brother,  who  devours  it  greedily.  Man  looks  at 
him,  conflicting  emotions  in  his  face.  Cut  in  a 
up  of  each.  Then  back  to  scene.  The  duck  finished, 
Brother  composes  himself  to  sleep ;  Man  sits,  his  back 
against  wall  of  cave,  looking  at  him. 

Close-up.    Cave,  same  as  10.    The  Man  sits, 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  253 

back  against  wall,  as  in  16.  watching  his  brother.  Fade 
out  slowly. 

Sub-Titk.    His  BROTHER'S  KEEPER. 

Scene  18.  Exterior.  In  the  thick  woods.  The  Man  and 
His  Brother  come  into  picture  and  go  through  woods, 
The  Man  guiding  and  instructing  His  Brother,  each 
has  club  and  bow  and  arrows. 

Scene  19.  Exterior.  Edge  of  swamp.  Brother  wants 
to  explore  swamp :  Man  prevents  him.  explaining  dan 
gers.  (If  thought  effective,  the  particular  dangers 
may  be  shown  in  visions  as  The  Man  talks.) 

Scene  20.  Exterior.  In  woods.  Deer  feed.  Flash.  Far 
view. 

'ie  21.  Exterior.  Another  part  of  woods.  Flash. 
Figures  near  camera.  The  Man  and  His  Brother  steal 
upon  the  deer.  The  Man  coaching  Brother. 

Scene  ^  rior.     Deer,   as   in   20.     Flash.     Near 

view. 

Scene  23.  Exterior.  In  woods.  Near  view.  Flash. 
The  Man  points,  and  His  Brother  shoots. 

Scene  24.  Exterior.  In  woods,  same  as  20.  Near  view. 
Deer  lies  pierced  by  arrow :  Brother  and  Man  run  into 
picture :  Brother  greatly  pleased :  Man  shoulders  deer 
and  they  go. 

Sub-Title.  ' '  Gix  A  BODY  MEET  A  BODY,  COMIN  '  THROUGH 
THE  RYE." 

Scene  25.  Exterior.  In  the  jungle.  Far  view.  Flash. 
The  girl. 

Scene  26.  Exterior.  Jungle.  Near  view.  The  Girl, 
idling,  or  adorning  herself :  she  starts  away. 

Scene  27.  Exterior.  In  the  tall  grass.  The  Girl  comes 
through  grass;  sits  and  weaves  grasses. 


284          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Scene  28.  Exterior.  In  the  woods.  Flash.  The  Man 
strides  through  the  woods ;  listens ;  changes  his  direc 
tion. 

Scene  29.  Exterior.  Same  as  27.  Near  view.  The  Girl 
gathers  and  weaves  the  grasses ;  starts  and  crouches  at 
sound. 

Scene  30.  Exterior.  At  edge  of  grass.  Near  view. 
Flash.  The  Man  looks  intently ;  then  starts  into  grass. 

Scene  31.  Exterior.  Same  as  27.  Near  view.  The  Girl 
crouches,  startled,  yet  curious ;  The  Man  comes  through 
the  grass  and  stands  over  her,  regarding  her  intently ; 
cut  in  a  close-up  of  each.  Then  back  to  scene.  The 
Man  approaches  very  slowly,  his  face  smilingly  inter 
ested  and  inquisitive;  The  Girl  alert  and  ready  to 
run,  but  also  interestedly  inquisitive;  cut-in  close-up 
flashes  of  the  varying  expression.  Back  to  scene.  As 
The  Man  gets  too  close  for  safety,  The  Girl  starts  to 
run,  but  is  not  quick  enough,  and  he  grabs  her  by 
the  arm;  she  turns  upon  him  and  sinks  her  teeth  in 
his  arm.  Cut  in  close-up  of  Girl  biting  his  arm.  Back 
to  scene.  The  Man  is  not  affected  by  the  bite  and 
pulls  her  face  away  from  his  arm  and  holds  her  off, 
regarding  her  as  she  struggles;  after  a  moment,  her 
struggles  cease,  she  seeing  that  they  are  useless;  she 
tries  tears  and  The  Man  relents  a  little,  loosening  his 
hold ;  she  tries  to  dart  away,  but  again  he  is  too  quick, 
and  catches  her ;  shaking  her  in  punishment ;  she  seems 
subdued;  after  thinking  the  matter  over  for  a  time, 
he  starts  to  drag  her  away ;  again  she  fights  and 
screams,  but  The  Man  is  not  affected  by  this,  and  drags 
her  out  of  picture,  screaming,  biting,  and  struggling. 

Scene  32.    Exterior.     Base  of  a    cliff.     Figures    near 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  285 

camera.  Two  men  about  to  climb  cliff,  when  woman 
rushes  to  them  and  jabbers  and  points;  the  men  ma 
in  the  direction  in  which  she  points. 

Scene  33.  Exterior.  Glade  in  woods.  The  Man  comes 
into  picture,  dragging  Girl;  finally  picks  her  up  and 
carries  her ;  she  has  ceased  to  struggle.  Cut  in  close-up 
of  The  Man  with  The  Girl  in  his  arms.  Back  to  scene. 
Part  way  through  the  glade,  he  stops  to  listen ;  drops 
her  on  the  ground,  and  faces  about  with  club,  bellig 
erent.  Cut  in  a  near- view  as  he  stands  ready  for  the 
attack,  The  Girl  crouching  at  his  feet,  not  availing 
herself  of  the  opportunity  to  get  away  which  is  offered. 

Scene  34.  Exterior.  Near  view.  In  forest.  Flash.  The 
two  men  peer  from  behind  tree,  and  prepare  for  the 
attack;  they  start. 

Scene  35.  Exterior.  In  the  glade,  same  as  33.  The 
Man  and  The  Girl  on,  as  in  33 ;  the  two  men  advance 
and  attack;  the  fight.  (It  is,  perhaps,  idle  to  supply 
detail  for  a  scene  of  this  character,  the  locus  and  the 
personnel  of  the  actors  are  too  variable  factors,  and 
the  detail  must  be  supplied  at  the  time  of  taking ;  suf 
fice  it,  that  The  Man  kills  the  two  pursuers) ;  The  Girl 
watches,  a  most  interested  spectator ;  possibly,  to  exem 
plify  the  early  feminine  disposition,  she  might  help 
The  Man  a  little;  and  at  the  finish,  goes  with  him  will 
ingly  enough,  though  she  does  not  let  him  suspect  it. 
Cut  in  close-ups  or  near  views  of  the  main  action  and 
of  The  Girl  as  she  watches. 

Scene  36.  Interior.  Cave,  same  as  10.  Flash.  The 
Brother  restless  and  nervous,  goes  to  mouth  of  cave; 
looks  out;  returns. 

Scene  37.  Base  of  cliff,  same  as  9.  Exterior.  The  Man 
and  The  Girl  come  into  picture ;  she  timid  and  making 


286  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

half-hearted  resistance;  he  starts  to  drag  her  up  the 
cliff. 

Scene  38.  Interior.  Cave,  same  as  10.  Boy  sits,  ex 
pectant  ;  The  Man  and  The  Girl  enter,  he  dragging  her 
in;  she  falls  in  a  heap  on  the  floor  of  cave;  The 
Brother,  on  hands  and  knees,  looks  at  her  inquisitively. 

Scene  39.  Close-up  of  Brother  as  he  looks  at  Girl. 
Flash. 

Scene  40.  Close-up  of  The  Man  as  he  looks  at  both. 
Flash. 

Scene  41.  Close-up  of  The  Girl,  as  she  peeks  through 
her  fingers  at  them. 

Scene  42.  Interior.  Cave,  same  as  10.  Near  view. 
Man,  Brother,  and  Girl  on,  as  in  38;  The  Girl  grad 
ually  assumes  a  sitting  position  and  uncovering  her 
eyes,  looks  at  them ;  her  gaze  turns  from  The  Man  to 
the  Brother,  and  as  she  looks  at  him,  her  face  assumes 
a  pleased  expression,  and  she  is  plainly  partial  to  the 
Brother.  She  allows  him  to  touch  her  hand,  and  is  not 
displeased  with  the  caress ;  they  each  seem  unconscious 
of  The  Man,  who  is  regarding  them  gravely,  his  face 
darkening  as  the  tete-a-tete  progresses ;  once  or  twice, 
The  Man  starts  as  though  to  tear  them  both  into  pieces, 
but  controls  himself;  once  or  twice,  also,  The  Man 
starts  to  make  advances  toward  The  Girl,  and  she 
shrinks  from  him,  plainly  evincing  her  preference;  at 
length,  The  Man  slowly  turns  and  goes,  pausing  at 
the  mouth  of  the  cave  to  look  back  at  the  girl  clinging 
to  the  arm  of  The  Brother  who  has  assumed  a  new 
air  —  the  air  of  a  protector  having  found  someone 
weaker  than  himself.  Cut  scene  with  close-ups  of  the 
main  action. 

Scene  43.    Exterior.     Base  of  cliff,  same  as  9.     Night. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  287 

Near  view.  The  Man  comes  into  picture  from  above ; 
stands  with  grave  and  saddened  face.  Fade  out. 

Leader.  BUT  VERY  SOON,  EVEN  IN  THE  HONEYMOON, 
THEY  FOUND  THAT  THEY  MUST  DEPEND  UPON  THE 
MAN. 

Scene  44.  Interior.  Cave,  same  as  10.  Full  view.  The 
Brother  and  The  Girl  in  evident  distress,  she  explain 
ing  pitifully  that  there  is  no  food ;  he  shows  her  his 
broken  bow  and  explains  that  he  cannot  make  a  new 
one.  The  Man  enters,  carrying  a  deer  which  he  drops 
at  her  feet ;  The  Brother  is  delighted ;  shows  The  Man 
the  broken  bow,  and  The  Man  gives  him  his ;  The  Girl 
looks  a  little  pityingly  at  the  Brother,  and  admiringly 
at  The  Man,  who  turns  and  goes,  she  following  him 
with  her  eyes.  Diaphragm  out  on  her  face. 

Sub-Title.    PRIMITIVE  CHIVALRY. 

Scene  45.  Exterior.  In  the  forest.  The  Brother  and 
The  Girl  on ;  he  in  terror  and  inclined  to  hide  behind 
her.  A  savage  man  approaches,  evidently  with  evil 
intent;  The  Man  rushes  upon  the  scene,  and  the  sav 
age  skulks  away.  The  Brother  greatly  relieved;  Girl 
looks  with  contempt  upon  The  Brother  and  admiringly 
at  The  Man,  who  turns  away;  as  The  Brother  leads 
away  The  Girl,  she  looks  back  at  The  Man.  Diaphragm 
out  on  her  face. 

Leader.  THE  WORLD  WAS  STILL  IN  THE  MAKING,  AND 
NATURE'S  MIGHTY  FORCES  WERE  AT  WORK. 

Sub-Title.    THE  DELUGE. 

Scene  46.    Flash  of  the  rocks  lashed  by  the  rising  water. 

Scene  47.  Exterior.  High  crag.  Figure  near  camera. 
The  Man  sees  the  storm  unafraid. 

Scene  48.  Exterior.  Flash  of  The  Brother  and  The 
Girl  running  along  rocky  shore,  in  terror. 


288          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Scene  49.  Exterior.  High  crag,  same  as  47.  The  Man 
sees  Brother  and  Girl  and  starts  to  help  them. 

Scene  50.    Flash  of  the  havoc  of  the  storm. 

Scene  51.  Exterior.  Among  the  rocks,  rising  water. 
The  Man  meets  Brother  and  The  Girl  and  takes  com 
mand  ;  both  dependent  on  him ;  he  half  supports  them 
among  the  rocks. 

Scene  52.     Flash  of  the  storm.     (Or  fearful  surf.) 

Scene  53.  Exterior.  Beneath  a  shelving  rock.  Near 
view.  Lightning  and  rain.  The  Man,  The  Brother, 
and  The  Girl  come  underneath  the  shelter  of  the  shelv 
ing  rock ;  The  Man  at  the  edge  calculating  the  storm's 
extent;  The  Brother  and  The  Girl  crouched  behind 
him,  The  Girl  clinging  to  his  tunic  and  looking  at  him 
with  admiration  mixed  with  the  fear  in  her  face. 

Scene  54.    Flash  of  the  storm. 

Scene  54a.  Repeat  near  view.  Flash  of  The  Man,  The 
Girl,  and  The  Brother  as  in  53. 

Sub-title.     THE  LAST  REFUGE. 

Scene  55.  Exterior.  Rock  in  the  water.  Far  view.  The 
Man  supporting  the  others,  struggles  through  the 
water  to  the  rock ;  with  great  difficulty,  The  Man  puts 
them  upon  the  rock  and  is  exhausted  himself.  (If 
not  too  difficult,  wild  animals  on  the  rocks  will  add  to 
effect.) 

Scene  56.  Exterior.  Same  as  55.  Near  view.  The 
Brother  and  The  Girl  on  the  rock,  as  in  55 ;  he  clings 
to  her;  she  is  regarding  The  Man  in  the  water  below. 

Scene  57.  Close-up  of  The  Man  in  the  water ;  exhausted 
and  his  grasp  slipping. 

Scene  58.  Exterior.  Same  as  55.  Near  view.  Group 
at  rock,  as  in  55;  as  The  Man's  hold  slips,  The  Girl 
reaches  down  to  save  him,  and  she  slips  from  the  rock. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  289 

The  Man  clasps  her  in  his  arms,  struggling  desper 
ately  to  save  her. 

Scene  59.  Close-up  flash  of  The  Brother  shivering  with 
terror  alone  on  the  rock. 

Scene  60.  Close-up  of  The  Man,  The  Girl's  arms 
clasped  about  his  neck,  as  they  sink  beneath  the  waters. 
Fade. 

END  OP  PROLOGUE 

THE  HEIK  OF  THE  AGES 

Leader.  TIME  UNWOUND  THE  SCROLL  OP  THE  YEARS 
UNTIL  THE  EARTH  BECAME  GRAY  AND  WRINKLED,  AND 
TO  EACH  LIVING  THING  HE  LEFT  A  HERITAGE. 

Separate  Screen.  THE  DOG  AND  THE  CAT  TODAY  TURN 
AROUND  BEFORE  LYING  DOWN  BECAUSE,  FOR  THOU 
SANDS  OF  YEARS,  THE  WOLF  AND  THE  TIGER,  THEIR  AN 
CESTORS,  TURNED  IN  EXACTLY  THE  SAME  WAY  TO  PRESS 
DOWN  THE  GRASS  OF  THE  JUNGLE  INTO  A  COMFORTABLE 
BED. 

Separate  Screen.  THE  LION  BORN  IN  CAPTIVITY  is  IN 
FURIATED  BY  THE  SQUEAK  OF  A  MONKEY,  THOUGH  HE 
HAS  NEVER  SEEN  ONE.  A  CELL  IN  His  BRAIN  RECALLS 
THAT  MONKEYS  ANNOYED  His  ANCESTORS  IN  THE 
JUNGLE. 

Separate  Screen.  MEMORY  PLAYS  STRANGE  TRICKS.  IN 
DREAMS,  WE  ALL  HAVE  FLASHES  AND  FRAGMENTS  OF 
A  DIM  AND  DISTANT  PAST,  INEXPLICABLE  ON  ANY 
GROUND  SAVE  THAT  IT  Is  A  HERITAGE  OF  THE  YEARS. 

Separate  Screen.  TYPE  RECURRENCES,  OR  ATAVISMS,  ARE 
FREQUENT  AND  UNMISTAKABLE.  WHO  CAN  SAY  THAT 
THEY  ARE  NOT  IDENTITIES? 


290  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Separate   Screen.     HUGH   PAYNE,   SUPERINTENDENT  OF 

THE  GOLCONDA  MlNE  AT  LAST  CHANCE,  CALIFORNIA. 

Dissolve  slowly  into 

Scene  61.  Reproduce  a  very  dim  and  indistinct  picture 
of  Scene  60;  hold  a  few  feet,  then,  by  intermingled 
dissolve,  there  slowly  comes  upon  the  screen 

Scene  62.  Interior.  Living  room  in  Hugh's  cabin-bun 
galow  in  the  hills,  furnished  with  the  taste  of  a  cul 
tured  man;  many  books,  guns,  skins,  trophies  of  the 
chase,  etc.,  and  as  a  laboratory  for  testing  ores ;  stone 
fireplace  and  chimney;  several  windows;  doors  lead 
ing  to  inner  rooms.  Hugh  bends  over  a  specimen  of 
ore,  examining  it  attentively ;  a  roughly  dressed  miner 
stands  near,  awaiting  anxiously  his  decision. 

Scene  63.  Interior.  Same  as  62.  Close-up.  Hugh 
slowly  raises  his  face  until  he  nearly  faces  the  camera, 
and  looking  at  the  miner,  gravely  shakes  his  head. 
(Miner  not  in  picture.) 

Scene  64.  Interior.  Living  room,  same  as  62.  Hugh 
and  miner  on,  as  in  62;  Hugh  shakes  his  head  arid 
hands  back  the  specimen ;  miner  seems  much  discour 
aged;  Hugh  encourages  him;  calls  Sing  Lee,  who 
brings  in  decanter,  glasses,  etc.;  miner  drinks,  Hugh 
declining ;  miner  goes ;  Hugh  lights  pipe,  and  resumes 
a  book,  open  on  table. 

Scene  64a.  Exterior.  Hugh's  bungalow.  Little  better 
than  a  shack.  Hugh  and  miner  come  to  door.  Miner 
goes.  Hugh  looks  after  him,  then  enters  house. 

Sub-Title.    THE  TOWN  OF  LAST  CHANCE. 

Scene  65.  Street  in  mining  town;  many  signs — 
"Broadway  and  42d  St.,"  "The  St.  Regis,"  "Under 
taker.  It  Is  a  Pleasure  to  Be  Buried  By  Me."  Cut  in 
close-ups  of  these  or  other  points  of  interest.  Flashes. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  291 

Seem  66.  Exterior.  "  The  Square  Deal  "  —  saloon, 
gambling  house,  dance  hall.  Far  view.  Flash. 

Scene  57.  Exterior.  "  The  Square  Deal."  Near  view. 
Same  as  66.  Kearney,  "  Shorty,"  and  one  or  two 
rough  characters  lounging  near  door ;  men,  women,  and 
girls  passing  and  entering. 

Sub-Title.  KEARNEY,  THE  PROPRIETOR  OF  "  THE  SQUARE 
DEAL." 

Scene  68.  Close-up  of  Kearney's  hard,  evil,  determined, 
semi-handsome  face,  with  cigar  in  his  mouth;  face 
breaks  into  a  sinister  smile. 

Scene  69.  Exterior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  67.  Near 
view.  Group  on  as  in  67;  several  of  the  dance  hall 
girls  come  and  chat  with  Kearney  and  Shorty;  loud 
laughter  and  jokes ;  the  girls  turn  to  look  at 

Sub-Title.    "  THE  DUCHESS." 

Scene  70.  Exterior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  66.  Near 
view.  Group  on  as  in  69 ;  '  *  The  Duchess  ' '  joins  them 
leisurely  and  with  the  easy  confidence  of  a  woman 
who  knows  she  is  "it."  Her  wonderfully  innocent- 
appearing  face  seems  out  of  place  there ;  she  chats  with 
Kearney,  who  is  not  altogether  indifferent  to  her. 

Scene  71.     Close-up  of  "  The  Duchess  "  as  she  talks. 

Scene  72.  Exterior.  Square  Deal.  Same  as  66.  Near 
view.  Group  on  as  in  70;  after  a  moment's  chat,  all 
turn  and  enter  saloon,  Kearney  exercising  undoubted 
proprietorship  of  "  The  Duchess." 

Seem  73.  Interior.  The  Square  Deal.  Large;  usual 
equipment  —  bar,  dance  floor,  roulette  or  faro  bank, 
poker  table,  pianist  and  one  or  two  other  musicians; 
stairway  leading  to  rooms  above.  Tables  for  drinking. 
Usual  crowd  on;  Kearney,  The  Duchess,  Shorty  and 
girls  enter  and  make  their  way  to  table  and  seat 


292          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

themselves;  the  other  girls  go  to  another  table,  pick 
ing  up  a  companion  or  two  on  their  way. 

Scerte  74.  Interior.  Square  Deal.  Near  view  of  Kear 
ney's  table.  Group  at  table  as  in  73;  waiter  (man, 
girl,  or  Chinaman)  brings  drinks  to  table;  The  Duch 
ess  examines  her  drink  and  is  not  satisfied  with  it; 
after  a  short  parley  with  the  waiter,  she  dashes  glass 
into  waiter 's  face ;  waiter  retires  with  hands  covering 
face ;  Kearney  and  Shorty  laugh ;  Duchess  takes  Kear 
ney 's  drink,  swallows  it,  and  then  lights  cigarette. 

Scene  75.  Close-up  of  The  Duchess 's  face  as  she  smokes, 
rolling  her  eyes  wickedly  in  the  direction  of  the  waiter. 

Scene  76.  Interior.  Square  Deal.  Near  view  near  bar. 
Flash.  Bartender  and  another  waiter  wipe  blood  from 
waiter's  cut  face. 

Scene  77.  Repeat  flash  of  75.  Duchess's  face  breaking 
into  a  sneering,  sinister  smile.  Diaphragm  out. 

Sub-Title.    THE  PROSPECTORS. 

Scene  78.  Exterior.  Long  mountain  trail.  Picturesque. 
Flash.  Hope  and  his  daughter,  Penelope,  with  pack 
mule.  Far  view. 

Scene  79.  Near  flash  of  group  as  in  78 ;  Penelope  hold 
ing  mule's  ear  affectionately,  and  whispering  into  it. 

Sub-Title.  PENELOPE  AGATHA  SPOTTISWOODE  HOPE.  Too 
MUCH  NAME  FOR  so  LITTLE  A  GIRL,  so  FOLKS  CALLED 
HER  "  MISSY." 

Scene  80.  Close-up  of  Missy  as  she  whispers  into  the 
mule's  ear. 

Scene  81.  Exterior.  On  the  trail,  overlooking  the  town. 
Missy,  Hope,  and  the  mule  contemplate  the  town 
from  eminence,  then  trek. 

Scene  82.    Exterior.    Street  in  Last  Chance,  same  as  65. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  293 

Before  The  Square  Deal.  Usual  crowd  on;  Kearney, 
Shorty,  and  The  Duchess  at  doorway  of  Square  Deal ; 
the  Hope  outfit  makes  its  way  up  the  street,  attract 
ing  some  attention,  especially  from  The  Duchess,  who 
points,  laughing. 

Scene  83.  Close-up  of  The  Duchess,  as  she  points,  laugh 
ing.  Flash. 

Scene  84.  Exterior.  Street,  same  as  65.  Near  view. 
Flash.  The  Hope  outfit  stops,  Hope  making  an  in 
quiry  ;  Missy  sees  The  Duchess. 

Scene  85.  Close-up  flash  of  Missy  as  she  looks  indig 
nantly  at  The  Duchess.  Cut  back  and  forth,  if  thought 
effective. 

Seem  86.  Exterior.  Street,  same  as  65.  Several  of  the 
town  girls  gather  around  the  Hope  outfit  and  have  fun 
with  Missy;  Hope  returns  and  the  outfit  moves  on, 
amid  merriment  of  the  girls,  and  the  indignation  of 
Missy. 

Leader.  THE  HOPE  FAMILY  TAKES  A  "  BUNGALOW  "  IN 
THE  HILLS  ABOVE  THE  TOWN. 

Scene  87.  Exterior.  Rough,  deserted  cabin  in  the  hills ; 
picturesque.  Hope  is  repairing  the  outside  of  the 
cabin ;  Missy  comes  from  inside  and  admires  his  work ; 
invites  him  in  to  see  hers ;  they  enter. 

Scene  88.  Interior.  Hope's  cabin;  much  delapidated, 
but  made  habitable  by  Missy 's  feminine  touch ;  small 
bookshelf  containing  four  books ;  several  plates  from  a 
fashion  magazine  on  walls ;  open  hearth ;  rude  table  of 
planks  and  chairs  same,  evidently  left  by  former  oc 
cupant.  Ladder  to  loft.  Missy  leads  her  father  in, 
proud  of  her  work,  and  points  out  the  improvements 
she  has  made,  frolicking  around  the  pitiful  rooms, 


294          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

happy  in  having  a  home  at  all ;  she  has  put  wild  flow 
ers  in  the  windows  in  anything  that  will  hold  them; 
the  dinner  is  cooking  in  a  pot  on  the  hearth,  and  Hope 
sits  before  the  fire,  Missy  standing  by  the  side  of  it 
and  looking  into  it. 

Scene  89.  Interior.  Hope's  cabin.  Near  view  at  fire 
place.  Group  as  in  88,  at  fire.  Fade  out. 

Sub-Title.    THE  Boss  —  NOMINAL  AND  ACTUAL. 

Scene  90.  Exterior.  Offices  of  the  mine.  Rude  build 
ing,  near  shaft.  Hugh's  horse  tied  to  post;  foreman 
comes  with  papers  as  Hugh  comes  from  offices;  fore 
man  shows  him  papers  and  they  consult. 

Scene  91.  Exterior.  At  shaft.  Several  men  come  from 
shaft,  two  of  them  angry  and  in  belligerent  mood 
toward  each  other;  there  is  a  disposition  among  the 
other  men  to  take  sides,  and  it  looks  like  serious  trouble. 

Scene  92.  Exterior.  Same  as  90.  Near  view.  Flash. 
Hugh  and  foreman  hear  the  noise  of  the  controversy 
and  go  in  that  direction. 

Scene  93.  Exterior.  At  shaft,  same  as  91.  Far  view. 
Group  on,  as  in  91 ;  foreman  precedes  Hugh  into  crowd 
but  can't  seem  to  make  very  great  headway  at  stop 
ping  impending  fight ;  Hugh  strides  into  crowd. 

Scene  94.  Exterior.  At  shaft,  same  as  91.  Near  view. 
Group  on  as  in  93;  the  two  belligerents  have  drawn 
knives ;  Hugh  confronts  them,  and  they  are  manifestly 
afraid  of  him.  He  registers,  "  Give  me  those  knives." 
The  knives  are  handed  over  reluctantly;  Hugh  says, 
meaningly, 

Cut-In.  "  I  CAN'T  AFFORD  TO  HAVE  Two  MEN  DISABLED, 
FOR  I  ?M  SHORT  HANDED  Now.  FURTHERMORE,  I  DON  'T 
BELIEVE  EITHER  OF  You  Is  GAME  ENOUGH  TO  FIGHT. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  295 

BUT  THE  NEXT  TIME  You  Two  START  ANYTHING,  I'LL 
MAKE  You  FIGHT!  " 

Back  to  scene.  Hugh  turns  on  his  heel  and  goes  with 
foreman  conferring  over  the  papers ;  the  two  men  slink 
away,  the  others  laughing  at  them. 

Scene  95.  Exterior.  Before  offices,  same  as  90.  Hugh 
and  foreman  come  into  picture,  and  after  a  moment's 
chat,  Hugh  unties  his  horse,  mounts,  and  rides  away. 

Scene  96.  Exterior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  87.  Missy 
stands  in  doorway,  water-pail  in  hand;  then,  bare 
footed,  bounds  away. 

Scene  97.  Exterior.  Mountain  trail.  Picturesque. 
Flash.  Hugh  rides  slowly,  thinking. 

Scene  98.  Exterior.  At  the  spring.  Picturesque.  Missy 
bounds  down  to  the  spring;  looks  at  her  reflection  in 
the  water. 

Scene  99.  Near  view  of  Missy  as  she  looks  into  water. 
(Reproduce  "  Nature's  Mirror,"  I  believe  the  picture 
is  called.)  After  a  moment,  in  which  she  arranges  her 
hair,  she  takes  from  her  bosom  a  folded  page  from  a 
fashion  magazine,  such  as  adorn  the  walls  of  the  cabin. 

Cut  in  close-up  of  the  extreme  fashion  sheet.  Then  back 
to  scene.  She  tries  to  arrange  her  dress  in  conformity 
with  it. 

Scene  100.  Exterior.  Trail  near  the  spring.  Near  view. 
Hugh  rides  along  trail;  sees  Missy,  stops  his  horse 
to  watch  her;  looks  at  her  in  surprise,  as  he  had  no 
idea  of  her  existence  before.  (Here,  as  he  looks,  it  is 
possible  that  a  faint,  shadowy  picture  —  scene  26 — 
of  The  Girl  as  The  Man  saw  her  in  the  Prologue,  would 
be  effective,  conveying,  of  course,  the  dim  and  intang 
ible  shadow  of  memory  referred  to  in  the  titles.  At 
several  other  points  in  the  story  there  is  opportunity 


296          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

for  a  similar  exemplification  of  these  memories,  but 
they  seem  to  me  to  be  most  difficult  to  "  put  over  " 
in  an  effective  way.  It  is  a  matter  for  consideration 
whether  to  use  them  at  all,  as  the  parallels  are  fairly 
plain;  but  I  will  indicate  them  as  they  occur  to  me. 
If  used,  diaphragm  in  and  out  and  regulate  Hugh's 
action  accordingly.) 

Scene  101.  Exterior.  At  spring,  same  as  98.  Very  near 
view.  Flash.  Missy,  all  unconscious  of  Hugh's  gaze, 
continues  with  her  toilet. 

Scene  102.  Exterior.  Spring,  same  as  98.  Full  view. 
Missy  on,  as  in  101;  Hugh  rides  into  picture,  and 
Missy  is  startled  and  inclined  to  flee  precipitately,  but 
Hugh's  pleasant  smile  reassures  her,  though  she  hides 
the  fashion  sheet  behind  her,  and  is  conscious  of  her 
bare  legs ;  Hugh  dismounts  and  allows  his  horse  to 
drink,  and  talks  to  Missy,  who  though  still  diffident, 
is  regaining  her  composure. 

Scene  103.  Exterior.  Near  view  at  spring,  same  as  98. 
Hugh  and  Missy  talk,  getting  acquainted,  though  Missy 
keeps  the  fashion  page  hidden  with  an  effort,  and  at 
the  same  time  is  conscious  of  her  bare  legs;  Hugh  in 
troduces  himself;  Missy  frankly  offers  her  hand,  at 
the  same  time  exposing  the  fashion  page,  and  says, 

Cut -In.  "  I'M  PENELOPE  AGATHA  SPOTTISWOODE  HOPE, 
BUT  EVERYBODY  CALLS  ME  '  MISSY.  '  ' ' 
Back  to  scene.  Hugh  smiles  gravely,  shaking  his  head 
at  the  long  name;  they  seat  themselves  by  the  spring 
and  Hugh  finally  gets  her  to  show  him  the  fashion 
page,  her  every  action  betokening  frank  ingenuous 
ness  ;  he  looks  at  the  page,  and  has  hard  work  to  keep 
his  face  straight,  but  assures  her  that  her  present  cos 
tume  is  far  more  fitting  than  the  one  on  the  page ;  she 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  297 

is  pleased,  but  incredulous. 

Scene  104.  Exterior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  87.  Flash. 
Hope  comes  to  door  of  cabin,  looks  in,  and  finding 
Missy  gone,  calls. 

Scene  105.  Exterior.  Spring,  same  as  98.  Full  view. 
Hugh  and  Missy  on  as  in  103 ;  Missy  starts  at  the  call, 
jumps  up,  and  is  about  to  say  good-bye  to  Hugh,  when 
he  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  pail  she  has  taken 
up  is  empty;  he  takes  it  from  her  and  fills  it,  and 
walks  with  her ;  when  they  have  taken  a  few  steps,  she 
calls  his  attention  to  the  fact  that  he  has  forgotten 
his  horse;  they  laugh,  and  Hugh  gets  the  horse,  and 
they  go,  Hugh  carrying  pail  of  water  and  leading 
horse. 

Scene  106.  Exterior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  87.  Hope 
stands  in  the  doorway  watching  them  approach ;  Hugh, 
leading  horse  and  carrying  the  water-pail,  preceded 
by  Missy,  comes  into  picture ;  Hugh  is  duly  presented 
to  Hope,  who  sizes  Hugh  up,  appraisingly ;  apparently 
satisfied  with  him,  Hugh  is  invited  into  the  cabin; 
Hugh  ties  his  horse,  and  they  start  to  enter,  though 
Missy  has  some  reluctance  on  account  of  appearances ; 
she  darts  in  ahead. 

Scene  107.  Interior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  88.  Full 
view.  Missy  on,  hurriedly  setting  things  to  rights  — 
"  tidying  up;"  Hope  and  Hugh  enter,  and  there  is  a 
moment  of  general  talk;  at  length  Hugh  notices  the 
small  shelf  of  books  and  looks  at  the  titles;  Missy  at 
his  side. 

Scene  108.  Interior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  88.  Near 
view  near  books.  Hugh  and  Missy  at  books,  as  in  107. 
Hugh  turns  to  her  and  says, 

Cut-In,  "  ARE  You  FOND  OP  BOOKS?  " 


298          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Back  to  scene.  Missy  is  a  little  staggered,  but  regis 
ters  ' '  Yes. '  '  Hugh  scans  the  titles  again,  endeavoring 
to  get  her  tastes,  and  turning  to  her,  registers, ' '  Which 
one  of  these  do  you  prefer?  "  Missy  ponders  a  moment, 
then  says,  indicating, 

Cut-In.    "  I  THINK  I  PREFER  THAT  ONE." 

Back  to  scene.  Hugh  takes  out  the  volume  indicated 
and  looks  at  the  title. 

Scene  109.  Close-up  of  book;  title  reading,  "  Geodetic 
Survey  of  Arizona,"  or  some  other  equally  dry  and 
abstruse  work.  Flash. 

Scene  110.  Interior.  Same  as  108  (88).  Near- view. 
Hugh  and  Missy  at  books,  Hugh  with  volume  in  his 
hand ;  he  opens  it  and  looks  at  the  contents ;  is  puz 
zled  ;  shakes  his  head ;  Missy  diverts  the  conversation 
cleverly. 

Scene  111.  Interior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  88.  Full 
view.  Hugh  and  Missy  at  the  books;  Hope  sits  near 
the  hearth,  looking  around  at  them  and  smiling 
broadly;  Hugh  and  Missy,  at  Missy's  initiative,  join 
Hope  at  the  fireside  and  seat  themselves  near  him  in 
the  glow  of  the  fire. 

Scene  112.  Interior.  Hope's  cabin ;  near  view  of  hearth. 
Group  on  as  in  111 ;  the  two  men  fill  their  pipes  and 
talk,  Missy  listening ;  Hugh  frequently  looks  at  Missy, 
who  is  unconscious  of  his  gaze,  and  once  fails  to  hear 
what  Hope  is  saying,  a  slight  confusion  on  Hugh's 
part  resulting.  Fade  out. 

Leader.  BACK  EAST,  LARRY  PAYNE  MAKES  DUCKS  AND 
DRAKES  OF  THE  LAST  OF  His  FORTUNE. 

Scene  112a.  Interior.  Larry 's  rooms ;  elegantly  fitted  in 
bachelor  style.  Sitting  room  or  den;  bedroom  show 
ing  beyond.  Various  articles  of  clothing  distributed 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  299 

about  the  room  in  disorder,  and  draped  over  the  furni 
ture  picturesquely;  the  occupant  had  undressed  all 
over  the  place ;  Larry  in  pajamas,  is  seen  in  the  bed 
room  beyond,  being  clothed  in  a  bath-robe  by  his  valet, 
a  most  patient  and  long-suffering  man;  Larry  enters 
sitting  room,  his  hair  tousled,  and  a  manifestly  bad 
taste  in  his  mouth;  valet  hastily  gathers  up  some  of 
the  clothes,  etc.,  from  various  improper  and  unusual 
places,  Larry  watching  him  (near  camera)  and  his 
face  breaking  into  a  smile  in  spite  of  his  "  head.77 
Larry  lights  a  cigarette  and  calls  loudly  for  his  cock 
tail;  valet  has  prepared  two,  and  Larry  drinks  them 
both,  with  evident  relish ;  as  valet  busies  himself  about 
the  room,  Larry  thinks.  Diaphragm  out  on  Larry's 
face  as  he  thinks,  and  into 

Scene  1121}.  Open  diaphragm  to  near  view  of  poker 
table,  Larry  and  four  men  of  fast  set  playing;  two 
women  in  evening  gowns  watch  the  game  from  behind 
the  men's  chairs;  one  of  the  women  bends  over  Larry 
and  he  indulges  in  little  familiarities  with  her ;  Larry 
loses,  rises  from  his  chair  and  goes  to  lounge  accom 
panied  by  the  woman,  and  he  lights  a  cigarette  from 
her's,  and  they  engage  in  a  most  animated  and  inti 
mate  conversation.  Diaphragm  out  and  in. 

Scene  112c.  Interior.  Larry's  rooms,  same  as  112a. 
As  the  vision  passes,  Larry  smiles ;  valet  calls  his  at 
tention  to  a  batch  of  letters  on  table;  Larry  runs 
through  them  hurriedly  and  uninterestedly,  and  tosses 
them  all  into  wastebasket ;  valet  says  apologetically, 

Cut-In.  li  BEG  PARDON,  MR.  PAYNE,  SIR,  BUT  SEVERAL 
OF  THESE  CREDITOR  PEOPLE  ARE  GETTING  QUITE  IM 
PORTUNATE,  SIR;  IN  FACT,  I  MIGHT  SAY,  BEGGIN'  YOUR 
PARDON,  VIOLENT.  ' ' 


300          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Back  to  scene.  Larry  tells  him  to  '  *  forget  it. '  '  Valet 
bows;  telephone  rings;  valet  answers,  and  covering 
transmitter  with  his  hand,  turns  inquiringly  to  Larry, 
who  waves  his  hand  violently;  valet  registers,  "  Not 
in,  Sir."  Evidently  the  person  on  the  other  end 
doubts  it  and  says  something  unpleasant,  for  valet 
hangs  up  receiver  with  a  shocked  air;  again  Larry  is 
in  reverie.  Diaphragm  out  and  in. 

Scene  112d.  Exterior.  Road  in  suburbs ;  gay  "  joy  ride/' 
far  and  near  views;  Larry  and  woman  in  112b  promi 
nent;  pass  a  policeman,  giving  him  the  laugh.  Dia 
phragm  out  and  into 

Scene  112e.  Interior.  Larry's  rooms,  same  as  112a.  As 
vision  passes,  Larry  smiles,  and  shakes  his  head ;  valet 
questions  him  respectfully ;  Larry  says, 

Cut-In.  1 1  NEVER  MIND,  OLD  TOP,  I  'LL  WRITE  TO  BROTHER 
HUGH  IF  I  GET  TIME  TODAY,  AND  HE  WILL  COME 
ACROSS  WITH  ENOUGH  TO  SEE  ME  THROUGH  UNTIL  I 
CAN  GET  THAT  MORTGAGE." 

Back  to  scene.  Valet  has  to  be  satisfied ;  Larry  lights 
another  cigarette ;  picks  up  the  photograph  of  an  over- 
(or  under-)  dressed  woman  from  the  table  and  regards 
it  smilingly.  Fade  out. 

Sub-Title.    THE  CAVE  MAN. 

Scene  113.  Exterior.  Post  Office.  Street,  same  as  65. 
Figures  near  camera.  Night.  Hugh  comes  from  post 
office  with  foreman;  Hugh  glances  over  many  letters 
and  hands  them  to  foreman,  keeping  one  himself ;  fore 
man  goes;  Hugh  walks  along  street  opening  letter. 

-Scene  114.  Exterior.  Square  Deal.  Street,  same  as  66. 
Figures  near  camera.  Night.  Kearney  and  Shorty 
lounge  in  front  of  saloon ;  Hugh  comes,  reading  letter 
by  light  from  window. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  301 

Insert.    LETTER  IN  MAN'S  HANDWRITING. 

.  .  .  another  five  hundred  until  I  can  arrange 
about  my  property  on  110th  St.  Have  been  going  it 
pretty  strong,  but  am  going  to  pull  myself  together. 

Yours,  LARRY. 

Back  to  scene.  Hugh  stands  reading  the  letter,  frown 
ing  ;  Kearney  and  Shorty  look  at  him ;  Kearney  says, 

Cut-In.  "  WHAT'S  THE  TROUBLE,  PAYNE?  BAD  NEWS? 
COME  HAVE  A  DRINK." 

Back  to  scene.  Hugh  looks  up  slowly  from  the  letter, 
folds  it  deliberately,  puts  it  into  his  pocket,  and  walks 
up  to  Kearney,  and  says,  grimly, 

Cut-In.  "  MISTER  PAYNE,  FOR  YOURS,  KEARNEY.  YES, 
VERY  BAD  NEWS.  I  'VE  GOT  A  YOUNG  BROTHER  WHO  Is 
BEING  SPEEDED  ON  HIS  WAY  TO  HELL  BY  JUST  SUCH 
SCOUNDRELS  AS  You.  I'LL  Go  You  ON  THAT  DRINK. " 
Back  to  scene.  Kearney  laughs,  and  the  three  enter 
the  saloon  together. 

Scene  115.  Interior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  73.  Night. 
Kearney,  Hugh,  and  Shorty  enter  and  make  their  way 
to  the  bar ;  on  the  way,  several  of  the  girls  make  over 
tures  to  Hugh;  he  regards  them  contemptuously, 
throws  several  pieces  of  money  on  one  of  the  tables 
for  them  to  drink  up,  and  joins  Kearney  and  Shorty 
at  the  bar.  All  show  deference  to  Hugh,  which  he 
does  not  notice ;  all  show  surprise  at  seeing  him  there ; 
whisper,  etc. 

Scene  116.  Interior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  73.  Night. 
Near  view  of  bar.  Hugh,  Shorty,  and  Kearney  at  the 
bar;  Kearney  orders  drinks  which  are  set  out;  Hugh 
throws  gold  pieces  on  bar ;  Kearney  remonstrates ;  Hugh 
pays  no  attention  to  him ;  swallows  his  drink  and  asks 
for  more;  Kearney  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  lets  Hugh 


302          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

have  his  way;  after  another  drink  or  two  have  been 
served  and  drunk,  Kearney  speaks  to  Hugh,  but  he  is 
morose  and  pays  no  attention  to  him.  Cut  to 

Scene  117.  Close-up  of  "  The  Duchess  "  as  she  sees 
Hugh. 

Scene  118.  Interior.  Same  as  116  (73).  Night.  Group 
at  bar  as  in  116;  "  The  Duchess  "  joins  them,  looking 
at  Hugh  with  sneering  inquisitiveness ;  Hugh  returns 
her  gaze  unmoved ;  she  says, 

Cut-In.  "  So  YOU'VE  DROPPED  IN  TO  SEE  Us  AT  LAST, 
MR.  GOLIATH.  WE  THOUGHT  You  WERE  A  WOMAN- 
HATING  PROHIBITIONIST/' 

Back  to  scene.  Hugh  looks  at  her  gravely  and  stead 
ily,  and  she  is  uncomfortable  under  his  gaze;  he  finally 
says,  deliberately,  after  draining  his  glass,  and  look 
ing  over  her  head  intently  for  a  moment, 

Cut-In.  l '  KEARNEY,  IF  THIS  LADY  Is  A  FRIEND  OF  YOURS, 
You  WILL  ADVISE  HER  TO  WITHDRAW,  AS  I  AM  ABOUT 
TO  START  SOMETHING.  " 

Back  to  scene.  Hugh  starts  deliberately  away  from 
the  group,  they  following  him  with  their  eyes. 

Scene  119.  Interior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  73.  Full 
view.  Night.  The  two  fighting  miners  (scene  94) 
have  risen  from  their  adjoining  tables  and  are  menac 
ing  each  other,  but  there  is  really  little  chance  of  a 
fight ;  Hugh  comes  from  the  bar  deliberately ;  they  see 
him  too  late,  and  each  tries  to  get  away ;  Hugh  knocks 
one  down  and  hurls  the  other  on  top  of  him ;  he  then 
hurls  tables  and  chairs  in  every  direction,  clearing  a 
space;  the  place  is  in  an  uproar,  and  Hugh  makes 
havoc  of  the  furniture ;  Kearney  is  about  to  interfere, 
but  Shorty  warns  him  that  Hugh  is  a  good  man  tc 
let  alone ;  the  most  interested  spectator  is  c '  The  Duch- 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  303 

ess, ' '  who  hovers  as  near  as  is  at  all  safe,  and  watches 
Hugh  with  admiring  eyes;  the  space  cleared,  Hugh 
stands  the  men  up  and  tells  them  to  fight;  the  men 
dare  do  nothing  else,  and  Hugh  watches  them  with 
the  "Cave  Man"  look  upon  his  face;  at  the  least 
sign  of  quitting,  Hugh  menaces  them,  and  they  fight 
to  exhaustion;  (of  course,  with  fists  only)  when  they 
can  no  longer  stand,  Hugh  holds  them  up  and  bids 
them  fight;  one  or  two  of  the  spectators  attempt  to 
mollify  Hugh,  but  they  are  thrown  aside  and  none 
dares  interfere.  At  length  Hugh  throws  down  the 
exhausted  men  contemptuously,  and  strides  from  the 
place.  Cut  in  close-ups  and  near  views  of  the  main 
action  —  Hugh,  the  fighters,  Kearney,  and  The  Duch 
ess,  who  is  completely  fascinated  by  The  Man. 
Note.  The  object  of  this  scene  is,  of  course,  to  show 
the  brutal  side  of  Hugh  and  his  atavistic  tendencies 
other  than  that  of  self-sacrifice;  and  also  to  prepare 
the  way  for  what  he  does  in  The  Square  Deal  after 
wards.  I  have  tried  to  portray  Hugh  as  a  Real  Man ; 
of  strong  passions  and  intense  personality,  who  when 
deeply  moved,  casts  aside  modern  conventions  and 
restrictions,  and  goes  back  to  primal  "  stuff."  For 
the  weak  man  to  sacrifice  and  "  give  up,"  excites 
only  pity;  when  the  strong  man  does  it,  one  feels 
admiration.  Also,  I  believe  the  public  is  tired  of  the 
entirely  fictional  namby-pamby  hero  who  never  departs 
from  the  code  prescribed  by  the  books  in  a  Sunday 
School  Library.  The  more  outrageous  he  is  made  to 
appear  in  this  scene,  the  better  it  will  suit  my  idea 
of  the  story. 

.Scene  120.    Exterior.    Square  Deal,  same  as  65.    Near 
view.     Night.     Hugh  comes  from  the  Square  Deal, 


304          Little  Stories  from  tine  Screen 

stands  a  moment,  shakes  himself  and  makes  a  face, 
as  though  to  get  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  and  the 
bad  taste  out  of  himself,  and  then  walks  away; 
Kearney,  The  Duchess,  and  one  or  two  others  come 
to  the  door  and  watch  him  as  he  goes. 

Sub-Title.    MIDNIGHT. 

Scene  121.  Interior.  Hugh's  living  room,  same  as  62. 
Night.  Hugh  near  camera.  Hugh  sits  at  table  think 
ing;  restless;  rises  and  paces  floor,  Larry's  letter  in 
his  hand ;  finally  sits  at  table.  (In  near  view.)  Reads 
letter  again.  Flash  of  letter.  Hugh  lays  it  down  and 
thinks;  starts  to  write;  tears  it  in  two;  writes  again. 

Scene  122.    Hugh's  hand  writes,  close  up, 
My  dear  Larry, 

I  am  sending  you  the  five  hundred,  as  you  request, 
and  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  do  it,  not  that  I  regret 
the  loss  of  the  money,  but  feel  that  you  should  be  able 
to  take  care  of  yourself.  .  .  . 

Scene  123.  Interior.  Hugh's  living  room,  same  as  62. 
Night.  Hugh  on,  as  in  121 ;  he  stops  writing,  tears 
up  the  letter;  puts  cheque  into  envelope  without  any 
letter,  addresses  and  stamps  it;  thinks.  Fade  out. 

Leader.  HUGH  DECIDES  TO  ENCOURAGE  THE  LITERARY 
TASTES  OF  MISSY. 

Scene  124.  Exterior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  87.  Hugh 
rides  into  picture  with  an  armful  of  books;  knocks; 
Missy  comes  to  the  door,  and  after  a  moment's  ani 
mated  chat,  in  which  Missy  looks  suspiciously  at  the 
books,  they  enter. 

Scene  125.  Interior.  Hope's  cabin.  Same  as  88.  Hugh 
and  Missy  come  from  door,  Hope  on  in  his  usual 
place  by  the  hearth;  he  greets  Hugh  pleasantly,  and 
Hugh  tells  the  purpose  of  his  visit  and  shows  the 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  305 

books  to  Missy,  commenting  on  each;  Hope  looks  at 
them,  grinning  covertly;  Missy  is  greatly  interested 
and  takes  the  books,  thanking  Hugh  and  putting  them 
on  the  shelf;  after  a  moment's  talk,  Hugh  exit,  Missy 
seeing  him  to  the  door  and  looking  after  him,  waving ; 
she  closes  the  door  and  stands  with  her  back  against 
it,  thinking ;  makes  resolution ;  goes  to  shelf  and  selects 
a  book ;  takes  it  with  determined  air  to  Hope  and  bids 
him  read  to  her;  he  demurs  strongly,  but  she  is 
imperative,  and  Hope  begins,  under  protest.  Cut  in 
a  close-up  of  Missy  examining  the  books  in  a  panic 
while  Hugh  and  Hope  talk  together  apart. 

Sub-Title.    LARRY  COMES  TO  A  DECISION. 

Scene  126.  Interior.  Larry's  rooms,  same  as  112a. 
Larry  is  dressed  for  going  out;  valet  enters  with 
several  letters;  Larry  scans  them;  takes  one  and 
throws  the  rest  into  waste  basket,  valet  watching  with 
worried  and  anxious  look;  Larry  motions  him  away; 
valet  obeys,  but  draws  near  again ;  Larry,  near  camera, 
opens  letter  and  takes  out  cheque  (which  is  large  and 
plain  enough  to  save  flashing  it  close  up)  ;  he  is  elated 
at  getting  it,  but  searches  the  envelope  for  letter; 
there  is  none;  he  thinks,  finally  turns  to  valet  and 
says, 

Cut-In.  il  HIGGINS,  PACK  UP.  I'M  GOING  TO  TAKE  A 
LITTLE  TRIP." 

Back  to  scene.  Higgins  is  astounded  and  enters  a 
respectful  protest  —  he  doesn't  want  to  be  left  to  face 
all  those  bills  —  but  Larry  pays  no  attention  to  him, 
and  goes  leisurely;  Higgins  makes  gesture  of  despair 
and  helps  himself  to  a  drink ;  sits  in  a  chair  to  think. 

Leader.    A  WEEK  LATER.     MISSY  KETURNS  THE  BOOKS. 

Scene  127.     Exterior.     Trail  before  Hugh's  bungalow. 


306          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Missy,  who  now  has  shoes  and  stockings  and  a  decent 

dress,  comes  up  the  trail  with  an  armful  of  books. 
Scene  128.     Exterior.     Hugh's  bungalow:  same  as  64a. 

Missy  knocks  on  door  and  waits.     Knocks  again. 
Scene   129.     Interior.     Hugh's  bedroom   in   bungalow; 

very    plain.     Near    view.     Flash    of    Hugh    sleeping 

soundly  in  bed. 
Scene  130.     Exterior.     Hugh's  bungalow,  same  as  64a. 

Unable  to  get  in  by  the  door,  Missy  goes  to  window 

which  is  open  and  climbs  into  it. 
Scene  131.     Interior.     Living  room,  same  as  62.    Missy 

climbs  into  room  through  window,  and  looks  about 

her  curiously  for  a  few  moments;  sees  door  to  inner 

room  and  starts  toward  it. 
Scene  132.     Interior.     Hugh's  bedroom,  same  as  129. 

Hugh  hears  someone  in  outer  room  and  calls  "  Who 

is  there?  "  (Registers)  getting  half  out  of  bed. 
Scene  133.     Interior.    Living  room,  same  as  62.    Missy 

on,  going  toward  door  of  inner  room;  she  pauses  at 

door  and  says, 
Cut-In.    "  IT'S  ME.    CAN  I  COME  IN?  " 

Back  to  scene.    Missy  starts  to  open  door. 
Scene  134.     Interior.     Hugh's  bedroom,   same  as  129. 

Hugh  springs  from  the  bed  and  braces  himself  against 

the  already  opening  door. 
Scene  135.    Near  view  of  Missy  at  door,  her  hand  on 

the  knob.     Flash. 
Scene  136.     Near  view  of  Hugh  as  he  braces  himself 

against  the  door  and  yells  at  her  not  to  come  in.     He 

is  in  a  positive  panic ;  then  realizes  the  utter  ingenuous 
ness  of  the  girl,   and  laughs  and  shouts  directions 

through  the  door. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  307 

Scene  137.    Interior.    Living  room,  same  as  62.    Missy 
goes  from  door  and  seats  herself  demurely  and  looks 
about  the  room  wonderingly;  after  a  moment,  Hugh 
enters  in  coat,  trousers,  and  slippers,  and  greets  her, 
opening  the  outer  door,  and  realizing  that  she  has  no 
idea  of  the  conventions;  Missy  says,  indicating, 
Cut-In.    "  I  BROUGHT  BACK  THE  BOOKS.     THANK  You 
So  MUCH;  THEY  WERE  LOVELY." 
Back  to  scene.     Hugh  tells  her  that  she  is  very  wel 
come,   and  indicating  his  well-filled  shelves,   asks  if 
she  will  have  some  more;  she  hesitates;  and  a  great 
light  begins  to  break  over  Hugh ;  he  takes  one  of  the 
books  that  she  has  returned  and  handing  it  to  her, 
questions  her  pleasantly  about  it;  she  opens  the  book, 
plainly  embarrassed.    Cut  in  a  close-up  of  Missy  with 
the  book  held  upside  down,  and  Hugh  looking  on  and 
realizing  that  she  cannot  read.     She  looks  up  at  Hugh 
and  the  tears  begin  to  start ;  she  throws  the  book  onto 
the  table  and  buries  her  face  in  her  arms  on  the  table ; 
Hugh  is  plainly  vexed  at  himself  for  forcing  this  con 
fession  from  her,  and  pats  her  shoulder  tenderly.  Back 
to  full  view  of  room.    Hugh  and  Missy  on  as  in  close- 
up  ;  Hugh  looks  at  the  sobbing  girl  tenderly;  seats 
himself  across  the  table  from  her,  and  lifting  up  her 
chin,  tells  her  that  she  mustn't  take  it  so  hard,  and 
that  he  will  be  glad  to  teach  her;  she  is  glad  at  this, 
and  after  a  few  assurances  and  encouragement,  she 
goes;   Hugh   closes  the   door  after  her,   and  stands 
against  it  thinking;  then  his  face  breaks  into  a  smile. 
Fade  out.     (Possibly  a  cut-in  by  Missy  admitting  that 
she  cannot  read.) 
Sub-Title.    A  LITTLE  MISUNDERSTANDING. 


308          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Scene  138.     Exterior.    Square  Deal,  same  as  65.    Street. 

Kearney  lounges  in  front  of  the  saloon.     Flash. 
Scene  139.     Exterior.     Store  on  street.     Same  as   65. 

Flash.     Missy  comes  from  store  with  basket. 
Scene    140.     Exterior.     Street.     Same    as    65.     Flash. 

Hugh  rides  along  street  slowly  reading  letter. 
Scene  141.     Exterior.     Street.     Same  as  65.     Close  up. 

Duchess  sees  Hugh  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 

starts  toward  him. 
Scene  142.     Exterior.     Street,  same  as  65.     Near  view. 

As  Hugh  rides  slowly,  reading,  The  Duchess  comes 

to  him  in  the  middle  of  the  street  and  he  stops  his 

horse  and  they  talk. 

Scene  143.     Close-up  flash  of  Kearney  as  he  sees  them. 
Scene  144.     Close-up  flash  of  Missy  as  she  sees  them. 
Scene  145.     Exterior.     Street,  same  as  65.     Near  view. 

Duchess  talks  to  Hugh  coquettishly,  urging;  says, 
Cut-In.    l '  WHY  DON  *T  You  DROP  IN  TO  SEE  Us  AGAIN  ? 

THERE  HAS  BEEN  No  EXCITEMENT  SINCE  You  SPENT 

THE  EVENING  THERE." 

Back  to  scene.     Hugh  laughs  and  says  that  he  thinks 

one  call  was  enough ;  The  Duchess  urges  using  all  her 

arts,  knowing  that  Kearney  is  looking. 
Seem    146.     Close-up    flash    of    Kearney,    angry    and 

jealous. 
Scene  147.     Close-up  flash  of  Missy,  surprised  and  a 

little  jealous,  but  evidently  trying  to  dismiss  it  from 

her  mind. 
Scene  148.     Same  as  145   (65). 

Hugh  laughingly  declines  The  Duchess's  invitation; 

she  is  most  flirtatious,  and  from  a  distance,  the  meet 
ing  would  seem  to  be  a  most  happy  one ;  at  last,  she 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  309 

leaves  him  with  a  coquettish  courtsey,  and  Hugh  rides 
away,  laughing. 

Scene  149.  Exterior.  Square  Deal.  Same  as  66.  Fig 
ures  near  camera.  Kearney  at  door  in  ill  humor; 
The  Duchess  comes  airily;  tantalizes  him;  he  plainly 
remonstrates  with  her;  she  looks  at  him  steadily, 
smiling;  says, 

Cut-In.  "  "WHY  DON'T  You  SPEAK  TO  MR.  PAYNE 
ABOUT  IT  f  I  CAN  'T  HELP  IT  IP  THE  MEN  LIKE  ME  !  ' ' 
Back  to  scene.  Kearney  is  angrier  than  ever;  The 
Duchess  laughs  at  him  tantalizingly,  and  enters  the 
saloon ;  Kearney  thinks ;  Hope  comes  into  picture  and 
tries  to  enter  the  saloon,  but  Missy  is  on  his  trail  and 
grabs  his  coat-tail;  lectures  him  roundly,  and  he  is 
most  submissive;  goes  with  her  like  a  lamb,  though 
it  is  plain  that  he  has  been  drinking;  Kearney  looks 
after  them  malevolently;  turns  and  enters  saloon. 
Cut  in  close-ups  if  thought  effective. 

Sub-Title.  As  THE  WEEKS  PASS,  THE  INTIMACY  RIPENS, 
AND  UNDER  THE  INSPIRATION  OF  HER  LOVE  FOR  HUGH, 
MISSY  MAKES  RAPID  PROGRESS. 

Scene  150.  Exterior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  87.  (Or 
picturesque  spot.)  Missy  reads  to  Hugh  from  book, 
Hugh  correcting  her  mistakes ;  she  is  manifestly  bright 
and  anxious  to  learn,  and  it  is  plain  she  is  doing  well ; 
Hope  comes,  and  it  is  plain  that  he  has  been  drinking 
heavily;  he  is  extravagantly  polite  to  Hugh,  but 
stumbles  going  in  the  door;  Missy  is  greatly  embar 
rassed;  she  says,  in  answer  to  Hugh's  look  of  inquiry 
as  to  whether  she  needs  any  help, 

Cut-In.  "  No,  I  DON'T  RECKON  I  NEED  ANY  HELP. 
HE'S  ALWAYS  GENTLE,  AND  MINDS  ME,  BUT  I  CAN'T 
WATCH  HIM  ALL  THE  TIME.  WHEN  HE  GETS  GOOD 


310          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

AND  PICKLED,  HE  QUITS.  HE'LL  BE  GOOD  FOB  QUITE 
A  WHILE,  FOB  HE'S  SUBE  PLASTEBED  Now/' 
Back  to  scene.  Hugh  laughs  at  her  quaint  way  of 
expression,  and  after  a  few  instructions  in  regard  to 
lessons,  he  goes ;  Missy  sits  with  her  chin  in  her  hands, 
looking  atfer  him. 

Sub-Title.    LESSONS. —  FOB  BOTH. 

Scene  151.  Interior.  Hope 's  cabin,  same  as  88.  Night. 
Firelight.  Near  view.  Missy  works  feverishly  on 
her  lessons,  appealing  now  and  then  for  help  to  her 
father,  who  sits,  nodding,  in  his  place  by  the  hearth ; 
cut  in  close-ups  of  each.  Back  to  scene.  Hope  tries 
to  sleep,  but  Missy  keeps  him  stirred  up  asking  for 
assistance,  and  he  is  meek  about  it. 

Scene  152.  Interior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  88.  Night. 
Firelight.  Full  view.  Missy  finishes  with  her  les 
sons;  she  lights  her  candle  at  the  fire;  and  after 
bidding  her  father  goodnight,  she  mounts  the  ladder 
to  her  loft  above ;  Hope  makes  a  great  show  of  taking 
off  his  coat  and  boots  and  preparing  for  bed ;  sits  on 
the  side  of  his  bunk;  thinks;  diaphragm  out  and  in 
-  vision  of  the  Square  Deal  in  full  blast.  Diaphragm 
out.  Hope  looks  at  the  top  of  the  ladder  tentatively ; 
no  sound ;  resolves  to  take  a  chance. 

Scene  153.  Close-up  or  very  near  view,  of  Missy  at 
aperture  in  floor  of  loft  near  top  of  ladder  waiting; 
in  night  clothes. 

Scene  154.  Interior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  88.  Night. 
Firelight.  Full  view.  Hope  hurriedly  dons  his  coat 
and  with  his  boots  in  his  hand,  starts  for  the  door  on 
tip-toe;  Missy  comes  down  the  ladder  part  way;  he 
halts,  and  they  look  at  each  other;  cut  in  close-up  of 
each.  Back  to  scene.  Hope  weakens,  returns  duti- 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  311 

fully,  takes  off  his  coat,  and  Missy  goes  up  the  ladder ; 
not  a  word  spoken;  no  ill  feeling;  Hope  starts  to 
undress,  resignedly. 

Sub-Title.  LAST  CHANCE  GETS  A  WELCOME  INCREASE 
IN  ITS  POPULATION. 

Scene  155.  Exterior.  Square  Deal.  Street,  same  as  65. 
Stage  (or  buckboard  which  Larry  has  hired)  drives 
into  street,  and  Larry  alights;  impresses  a  bystander 
into  service,  who  carries  his  two  big  grips,  and  makes 
straight  for  the  Square  Deal,  followed  by  the  grips 
and  man.  They  enter. 

Scene  156.  Interior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  73.  Larry 
enters,  followed  by  man  with  grips;  usual  crowd  on; 
Larry  goes  at  once  to  the  bar,  and  in  a  few  moments, 
is  well  acquainted  with  Kearney,  Shorty,  and  several 
of  the  girls ;  he  buys  liberally ;  The  Duchess  joins  the 
party  and  at  once,  Larry  has  eyes  for  no  one  but  her ; 
Kearney  does  not  mind  it,  as  it  is  the  usual  process 
of  "  milking  a  sucker/'  at  which  The  Duchess  is  an 
adept;  Larry  is  at  once  popular,  especially  after  he 

,  makes  known  his  identity;  and  after  quite  a  jolly 
party,  he  is  directed  aright  and  sets  out,  shaking 
hands  with  most  everybody.  Cut  scene  with  close- 
ups  and  near  views  —  especially  of  Larry  and  The 
Duchess,  who  has  taken  a  decided  fancy  to  him; 
after  he  is  gone,  they  agree  that  he  is  all  right. 

Scene  157.  Interior.  Hugh's  living  room,  same  as  62. 
Hugh  busy  with  a  mass  of  papers ;  the  door  opens,  and 
Larry  steps  into  room,  throwing  in  his  grips  ahead 
of  him;  the  two  brothers  look  at  each  other  for  a 
moment,  and  then,  with  genuine  joy,  rush  into  each 
other's  arms  and  clasp  hands  heartily;  then  they  seat 
themselves  for  a  talk;  after  a  moment,  Larry  says, 


312          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

frankly,  (After  they  seat  themselves,  in  Near  View.) 
Cut-In.  "  OLD  MAN,  I'VE  COME  OUT  HERE  TO  MAKE  A 
MAN  OF  MYSELF.  I  NEVER  COULD  GET  AWAY  FROM 
THAT  JOY  STUFF  AS  LONG  AS  I  STAYED  IN  NEW  YORK. 
I'M  GOING  TO  START  ALL  OVER.  CAN  You  GET  ME 
A  JOB?  " 

Back  to  scene.  Hugh  looks  at  him  and  his  frankness 
carries  conviction ;  Hugh  reaches  out  his  hand  and 
shakes  his  brother's  heartily;  Larry  indicates  that  he 
could  use  a  drink;  Hugh  hesitates  a  moment,  then 
calls  the  Chinaman,  who  brings  in  decanter  and 
glasses ;  Larry  pours  out  a  stiff  drink ;  Hugh  declines ; 
Larry  drains  his  glass  and  talks  happily.  Fade  out. 
Sub-Title.  NEXT  MORNING. 

Scene  158.  Interior.  Living  room,  same  as  62.  Hugh 
and  Larry  at  breakfast,  served  by  the  Chinaman ; 
Hugh  finishes  and  says  that  he  must  get  to  the  mine 
early ;  tells  Larry  to  take  possession,  and  goes.  Larry 
idles  over  his  breakfast,  smokes  a  cigarette,  and 
"  kids  "  the  Chinaman  as  he  clears  away  the  things 
(Lapse  of  time  enough  to  let  Hugh  get  away  from  the 
house).  As  Larry  sits  contemplating  things,  and  in 
most  cheerful  frame  of  mind,  the  door  opens,  and 
Missy,  with  several  books,  enters;  they  confront  each 
other  in  surprise,  Larry  being  delighted.  "  All  the 
comforts  of  a  home!  Hugh  certainly  has  a  nice 
place!  "  (Cut-in  ?)  Larry  rising,  offers  Missy  a 
chair,  which  she  takes  as  though  hypnotized,  and  in 
a  minute  Larry's  fluency  has  swept  her  off  her  bal 
ance,  and  she  is  listening  to  him  entranced ;  she  finally 
gets  a  chance  to  tell  him  who  she  is  and  that  she  has 
brought  back  the  books;  Larry  insists  that  she  take 
some  more,  and  that  he  will  carry  them  home  for  her ; 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  313 

she  has  no  chance  to  object,  as  Larry  is  a  fast  worker ; 
and  she  declining  an  invitation  from  him  "  to  stay 
and  visit  a  while,  and  have  a  little  breakfast,  or  a 
drink,"  he  loads  himself  up  with  books,  tucks  her 
under  his  arm,  and  they  go,  Missy  half  bewildered, 
but  pleased,  nevertheless.  Cut  in  close-ups  and  near 
views  as  effective. 

Scene  159.  Exterior.  On  the  trail  from  the  bungalow, 
same  as  127.  Flash  Larry  and  Missy  go  down  the 
trail  in  animated  conversation. 

Scene  160.  Exterior.  Before  the  shaft,  same  as  91. 
Flash.  Hugh  hard  at  work,  checking  up  men  (or 
some  other  detail  of  mining) . 

Scene  161.  Exterior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  87. 
Larry,  perfectly  at  home,  seated  explaining  to  the 
entranced  Missy  all  about  New  York  and  the  tall 
buildings.  Diaphragm  out. 

Leader.  CALLED  AWAY  FOR  A  MONTH  TO  THE  MAIN 
OFFICE  OF  THE  MINE  IN  SAN  FRANCISCO,  HUGH  LEAVES 
LARRY  IN  POSSESSION. 

Scene  162.  Exterior.  Railroad  station  in  West.  Plat 
form.  Hugh  bids  Larry  and  the  foreman  goodbye  as 
train  pulls  in,  boards  train,  as  it  pulls  out. 

Scene  163.  Train  recedes  down  long  stretch  of  track; 
diaphragm  down  on  train  as  it  disappears  in  the 
distance. 

Sub-Title.    EVENINGS. 

Scene  164.  Interior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  88.  Night. 
Missy,  Larry,  and  Hope,  who  occasionally  nods  in  his 
chair,  but  wakes  unexpectedly,  and  joins  in  the  con 
versation.  Larry  most  entertaining;  finally  looks  at 
his  watch  and  goes,  accompanied  to  door  by  Missy. 

Scene  165.    Exterior.    Hope's     cabin,     same     as     87. 


314          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Night.  Moonlight  on  faces.  In  near  view,  Larry 
and  Missy  step  from  the  cabin  and  Larry  extols 
the  beauty  of  the  night ;  talks  well  and  earnestly  to 
Missy,  who  seems  to  be  under  a  spell  when  in  his 
presence;  Larry,  perhaps,  does  not  make  love  to  her 
directly,  but  he  has  a  way  of  impressing  her  and 
makes  the  most  of  it;  finally  says  goodbye,  and  holds 
her  hand,  unresisting,  just  a  trifle  too  long ;  then  goes, 
with  a  sigh  and  a  manly  walk ;  Missy  looks  after  him, 
puzzled  at  herself ;  looks  at  her  hand ;  then  suddenly 
enters  cabin  and  slams  door. 

Scene  166.  Interior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  88.  Missy 
near  camera.  Night.  Missy  stands  with  her  back 
against  door  thinking;  Hope  nods  in  his  chair.  Fade 
in  a  vision  of  Hugh's  face.  Then  back  to  scene.  As 
the  vision  passes,  Missy  comes  to  herself;  lights  the 
candle  at  the  fire,  and  goes  slowly  up  the  ladder. 

Scene  167.  Interior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  73.  Night. 
Place  in  full  blast;  usual  crowd;  Larry  enters  and  is 
at  once  the  center  of  attraction;  buys  a  drink  for 
several  of  the  men ;  buys  one  for  several  of  the  girls ; 
takes  seat  at  the  roulette  table,  and  The  Duchess  hangs 
over  his  chair;  Kearney  pulls  her  away  and  whispers 
to  her  angrily ;  she  flouts  him  and  returns  to  back  of 
Larry's  chair;  he  makes  a  bet  for  her  and  she  collects 
it,  and  rewards  him  with  a  kiss ;  all  of  which  does  not 
tend  to  put  Kearney  in  a  better  frame  of  mind;  but 
Larry  is  too  good  a  "  client  "  to  be  offended,  and  the 
game  goes  on.  Fast  action,  cut  in  close-ups  and  near 
views  of  Larry  and  The  Duchess,  Duchess  and  Kear 
ney  ;  and  of  the  kiss,  which  Kearney  sees.  Larry  loses 
in  the  end  at  the  roulette  or  faro  table. 

Sub-Title.    IN  SAN  FRANCISCO. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  315 

Scene  168.  Interior.  Any  large  room.  Hugh  speaks 
to  the  Board  of  Directors  of  the  mine,  and  brings 
them  to  his  way  of  thinking;  they  acknowledge  that 
he  is  right;  shake  hands  with  him  as  they  pass  out; 
Hugh  left  alone,  gathers  up  his  papers  and  stands 
thinking;  smiles.  Fade  in  a  vision  of  Missy.  As 
vision  fade  out,  Hugh  smiles  again,  happily,  puts 
on  his  hat  and  goes.  When  left  alone,  Hugh  in 
close-up  or  near-view.  Then  back  to  full  scene. 

Leader.    AND  THEN    .     .     . 

Scene  169.  Exterior.  Picturesque  spot  in  woods.  (Or 
any  other  better  location.)  Missy  and  Larry;  he  is 
talking  to  her  earnestly;  her  attitude  is  that  of  sur 
prise,  yet  not  of  anger;  Larry  attempts  to  take  her 
hand;  she  draws  away;  he  has  never  acted  like  this 
before;  finally  Larry  says, 

Cut-In.    "  MISSY,  WILL  You  MARRY  ME?  " 

Back  to  scene.  Missy  looks  at  him  in  startled  sur 
prise,  smiling  nervously ;  he  advances  toward  her,  and 
she  darts  away,  looking  back  and  smiling ;  he  starts  to 
pursue,  but  sees  that  it  is  useless ;  stands ;  Missy  runs 
out  of  the  picture,  still  looking  back  and  smiling; 
Larry  stands  thinking;  he  mistakes  the  attitude  of 
the  girl  for  bashful  maidenhood;  he  stands;  thinks, 
smiles.  Fade  out.  (The  point  is,  that  she  did  not 
say  "  No."  This  gives  a  basis  for  what  he  says  to 
Hugh  in  a  later  scene.) 

Sub-Title.     THE  HOME  COMING. 

Scene  170.  Interior.  Hugh's  living  room,  same  as  62. 
Night.  Larry  on,  just  finishing  dinner,  served  by  the 
Chinaman;  Hugh  comes  happily,  and  the  brothers 
greet  each  other  cordially;  Hugh  seats  himself  and 
tells  the  Chinaman  to  bring  him  everything  in  the 


316          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

house  as  he  is  ravenous ;  Chinaman  grins  and  retires ; 
Hugh  talks  animatedly  for  a  moment,  Larry  being  a 
little  abstracted;  finally  Larry  says,  toying  with  his 
spoon, 

Cut-In.  l '  OLD  MAN,  I  HAVE  SOME  NEWS  TO  TELL  You, 
THAT  I'M  SURE  YOU'LL  BE  GLAD  TO  HEAR.  You 
OFTEN  SAID  THAT  THE  BEST  THING  I  COULD  DO  WAS 
TO  MARRY  —  IT  WOULD  STEADY  ME.  I'M  GOING  TO 
TAKE  YOUR  ADVICE.  I'M  GOING  TO  MARRY  THAT 
LITTLE  MISSY  HOPE." 
Back  to  scene.  Hugh  looks  at  his  brother. 

Scene  171.  Close-up  of  Hugh  as  he  looks,  his  face 
changing  from  surprised  shock,  and  gradually  harden 
ing,  the  passions  boiling  underneath  an  almost  perfect 
control  (Possibly  a  shadowy  cut-back  to  the  scene  in 
the  cave.  Then  back  to  close-up)  ;  Hugh  glares  at 
Larry,  and  says, 

Cut-In.    ll  HAVE  You  ASKED  HER?  " 
Back  to  scene.     Hugh  glares  at  Larry. 

Scene  172.  Interior.  Living  room,  same  as  62.  Near 
view  of  table.  Larry  and  Hugh  on  as  in  170;  Hugh 
awaits  the  answer  intently;  Larry  laughs,  and  says, 

Cut-In.  "  YES  —  AND  SHE  DID  Nor  SAY  'No.'  I  AM 
SURE  SHE  LOVES  MB." 

Back  to  scene.  Larry  says  cut-in  and  reaches  out  his 
hand,  registering  "  Congratulate  me!  "  Hugh  looks 
into  his  brother's  face,  the  instincts  of  the  Cave  Man 
struggling  for  expression ;  for  a  moment,  it  is  a  toss-up 
whether  Hugh  is  going  to  murder  or  congratulate 
him.  (Fade  in  a  dim  picture  of  that  scene  in  the 
prologue  where  The  Man  looks  at  His  Brother  and 
The  Girl  in  the  cave,  when  he  first  is  aware  that  The 
Girl  prefers  His  Brother.)  Then  back  to  scene. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  317 

Slowly  the  old  instinct  of  self-sacrifice  for  his  brother 
wins  the  mastery,  and  Hugh  reaches  out  and  grasps 
his  brother's  hand;  the  Chinaman  places  Hugh's  din 
ner  before  him,  but  he  does  not  see  it;  the  volatile 
Larry,  wrapped  up  in  himself,  has  not  seen  the 
tremendous  volcano  of  passion  that  is  boiling  beneath 
Hugh's  iron  exterior,  jumps  up,  lights  a  cigarette, 
selects  a  couple  of  books,  puts  on  his  cap,  and  with 
a  cheery,  "  So  long!  I'm  off  to  see  her  now,"  goes. 
Hugh  thinks,  looking  straight  ahead. 

Scene  173.  Close-up,  or  very  near  view  of  Hugh  as 
he  thinks ;  he  is  toying  with  a  very  heavy  silver  fork ; 
in  a  moment,  the  fork  is  wound  and  twisted  in  his 
fingers,  though  he  is  not  aware  of  it.  Fade  out. 
(Possibly,  the  effect  of  this  will  be  heightened  by 
cutting  in  a  very  close-up  flash  of  his  powerful  hands 
twisting  the  fork). 

Pub-Title.     CONFIRMATION. 

Scene  174.  Exterior.  In  the  mountains  (or  woods). 
Night.  Hugh  walks  aimlessly,  keeping  down  the  pas 
sion  that  threatens  to  rise. 

Scene  175.  Exterior.  Trail  near  Hope's  cabin;  cabin 
in  distance;  light  from  inside.  Hugh  near  camera. 
Night.  Hugh  comes  into  picture  and  stops,  looking; 
in  the  distance,  near  the  open  cabin  door,  Larry  and 
Missy  come  (In  silhouette)  (?).  She  talks  to  Larry 
earnestly,  looking  up  into  his  face,  her  hands  in  his; 
Hugh  sees  this. 

Scene  176.  Exterior.  Hope's  cabin,  same  as  88.  Night. 
Light  from  fire.  Hope  in  chair ;  looks  about  him,  sees 
Missy  not  there;  goes  to  door  and  looks  out;  coast 
clear ;  puts  on  hat  and  coat  and  hurries  out  stealthily. 

Scene  177.    Exterior.     Trail  near  Hope's  cabin,  same 


318  Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

as  175.  Night.  Near  view.  Light  from  open  door. 
Night.  Larry  and  Missy  on  as  in  175;  he  holds  her 
hands  and  she  looks  up  into  his  face  and  says, 

Cut-In.  "  No,  LARRY,  I  DON'T  LOVE  You  THAT  WAY. 
DON'T  ASK  ME  AGAIN.  I  CAN'T  TELL  You  ANY 
MORE  —  PLEASE.  ' ' 

Back  to  scene.  Larry  pleads,  still  holding  her  hands, 
and  she  gently  tells  him  "  No." 

Scene  178.  Exterior.  Near  cabin.  Night.  Hugh,  near 
camera,  Larry  and  Missy,  in  distance,  as  in  175  and 
177;  Hugh,  of  course,  cannot  hear  what  is  said;  his 
face  hardens  and  he  turns  away  in  agony. 

Scene  179.  Exterior.  Trail  near  Hope's  cabin,  near 
view.  Night.  Light  from  open  door.  Same  as  175. 
After  a  moment  of  unavailing  pleading,  in  which 
Larry  attempts  to  take  her  into  his  arms  and  she 
gently  repulses  him,  Larry  goes ;  Missy  stands  looking 
after  him  in  pity,  then  turns  and  enters. 

Scene  180.  Interior.  Hope 's  cabin,  same  as  88.  Night. 
Light  from  fire.  Missy  enters;  and  almost  at  once 
notices  that  her  father  is  gone;  fade  in,  if  there  is 
any  doubt  of  her  intention  "  getting  over,"  a  short 
vision  of  the  bar  of  the  Square  Deal,  with  Hope  there 
drunk.  Then  back  to  scene.  Missy  assures  herself 
that  he  has  taken  his  hat,  and  then,  thinking  a 
moment,  goes,  with  determination. 

Scene  181.  Flash  of  Larry  hurrying  down  the  trail 
toward  town.  Night. 

Scene  182.  Near  view  flash  of  Hugh  as  he  sees  him ; 
thinks;  follows,  worried.  Night. 

Scene  183.  Street  in  town.  Exterior,  same  as  65. 
Night.  Larry  passes  along  street  rapidly ;  Hugh  lurks 
some  distance  behind  watching. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  319 

Scene  184.    Flash  of  Missy  going  down  the  trail,  same 

as  181.     Night. 
Scene  185.     Interior.     The   Duchess'  room  above   The 

Square   Deal;   rough  room,   but  tawdrily  furnished. 

Night.     Duchess  near  camera.     The  Duchess  preens 

herself  for  the  evening. 
Scene  186.    Interior.    Square  Deal,  same  as  73.    Night. 

Few  people.    Larry  enters  and  looks  about;  Kearney 

is  not  there;  he  inquires  at  table  of  girls  for  The 

Duchess ;  they  smile  and  indicate  that  she  is  upstairs ; 

Larry  hesitates  a  moment,  then  goes  up  the  stairs; 

girls  smile  and  whisper. 
Scene  187.     Interior.     Rude  hall,   lighted  by  kerosene 

lamp.     Night.     Larry  comes  along  hall,  opens  a  door 

as  though  he  had  been  there  before  and  enters. 
Scene  188.     Interior.    The  Duchess's  room,  same  as  185. 

Night.     The  Duchess  on,  as  in  185 ;  Larry  enters,  and 

she  greets  him  cordially ;  he  throws  down  his  hat  and 

sits  near  her.     Cut  to 
Scene  189.     Interior.     Square  Deal,  same  as  73.    Night. 

People  on,  as  in  186;  Hugh  enters  and  looks  about; 

Larry  not  there ;  he  goes  to  bar  and  orders  drink ;  man 

at  bar  whispers  to  him  that  Larry  is  upstairs;  Hugh 

turns  from  his  drink,  thinks  a  moment,  then  mounts 

stairs. 
Scene  190.    Exterior.    Square  Deal,  same  as  66.   Night. 

Flash.     Missy  comes;  hesitates. 
Scene  191.    Interior.   Hall,  same  as  187.  Flash.   Night. 

Hugh  comes  along  hall  and  hesitates  before  doors. 
Scene  192.     Interior.     Square  Deal,  same  as  73.    Night. 

People  on,  as  in  186 ;  Missy  enters  timidly  and  looks 

around  for  her  father;  he  is  not  there;  the  girls  see 

her  and  surround  her. 


320          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

Scene  193.  Interior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  73.  Night. 
Near  view  of  group  as  in  192.  After  a  moment 's 
banter,  one  of  the  girls  says, 

Cut-In.  "  WHY  DON'T  You  Go  UPSTAIRS  AND  SEE 
YOUR  FRIEND,  HUGH  PAYNE?  HE'S  CALLING  ON  THE 
DUCHESS!  " 

Back  to  scene.  Missy  says  it's  a  lie,  her  spunk  rising; 
they  show  her  to  the  stairs  and  dare  her  to  go  up; 
Missy  hesitates,  but  goes  pluckily. 

Scene  194.  Interior.  Duchess's  room,  same  as  185. 
Night.  Larry  and  Duchess  on,  in  rather  familiar 
attitude;  door  opens  and  Hugh  appears;  he  stands 
a  moment,  looking  at  them  in  contempt,  then  crosses 
room,  so  that  he  faces  the  door ;  he  says  nothing,  only 
looks;  Larry  quails  and  starts  a  stammering  defense 
or  excuse;  Missy  appears  in  the  doorway,  and  Hugh 
alone  sees  her,  she  being  back  of  Larry  and  The 
Duchess;  Missy  steps  nearer;  Hugh's  face  changes; 
he  is  going  to  "  cover  "  for  Larry;  Hugh  puts  his 
arm  about  The  Duchess  and  says, 

Cut-In.  "  No,  LARRY,  I  WON'T  Go  HOME  WITH  You. 
You  HAVE  No  RIGHT  TO  INTERFERE  WITH  ME.  I'M 
GOING  TO  STAY  HERE.  THIS  Is  MY  GIRL." 
Back  to  scene.  Missy  comes  into  the  room  looking 
only  at  Hugh ;  Larry  realizes  what  Hugh  is  doing, 
and  not  having  given  up  hope  of  getting  Missy,  he 
allows  the  sacrifice ;  after  a  long  look  at  Hugh,  Missy 
covers  her  face  with  her  hands  and  runs  from  the 
room;  at  a  sign  from  Hugh,  Larry  slinks  after  her, 
leaving  The  Duchess  nestling  in  Hugh's  bosom;  once 
they  are  gone,  Hugh  throws  her  from  him  roughly; 
she  pleads  with  him  to  take  her;  Hugh  looks  at  her 
in  contempt;  Kearney  bursts  in  with  drawn  gun; 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  321 

Hugh  looks  at  him  calmly;  Kearney  rages,  and  Hugh 
is  not  affected  in  any  way;  finally  the  disquieting 
calmness  of  Hugh  gets  on  Kearney's  nerves,  and  he 
is  plainly  not  going  to  shoot ;  Hugh  says,  calmly, 

Cut-In.  "  KEARNEY,  IF  You  SHOULD  SHOOT  ME  WITH 
THAT  THING  AND  I  FOUND  OUT  ABOUT  IT,  I  MIGHT 
Do  You  SOME  HARM.  I'M  GOING  Now.  You  DIDN'T 
THINK  I  WANTED  THAT  —  CARRION,  DID  You  ?  ' ' 
Hugh  says  cut-in,  indicating  The  Duchess;  he  takes 
his  hat  and  stalks  from  the  room,  turning  his  back 
upon  them;  The  Duchess  crumples  in  a  heap  on  the 
floor,  and  Kearney  looks  at  her.  Duchess  sneers  at 
him;  this  infuriates  him  and,  gun  in  hand  he  rushes 
out  of  the  door.  Duchess  alarmed.  (Cut  scene  with 
close-ups  of  main  action  —  Hugh  in  door ;  Missy  as  she 
sees  Hugh;  Larry;  and  of  Hugh  and  Kearney,  as 
Kearney's  nerve  leaves  him.) 

Scene  195.  Interior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  73.  Night. 
Crowd  on;  Larry  and  Missy;  Hugh  comes  down  the 
stairs,  and  starts  across  room  to  door;  Kearney  comes 
part  way  down  the  stairs  and  fires  at  Hugh;  great 
confusion ;  Hugh  turns  and  rushes  for  the  stairs  and 
up  them,  Kearney  backing  and  shooting;  but  Hugh 
does  not  stop.  Place  in  an  uproar;  Larry  talking  to 
Missy  earnestly,  and  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  what  he 
is  saying,  for  Missy  is  frantic,  and  wants  to  run  to 
Hugh's  assistance,  but  Larry  holds  her. 

Scene  196.  Interior.  Hall,  same  as  187.  Flash.  Night. 
Kearney  backs  along  hall,  Hugh  after  him ;  Kearney 
shoots,  and  backs  into  Duchess's  room,  Hugh  after 
him. 

Scene  197.  Interior.  Duchess'  room,  same  as  185. 
Kearney  runs  in  and  Hugh  follows,  The  Duchess  runs 


322          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

toward  Hugh  evidently  to  protect  him,  and  as  Kearney 
shoots,  she  falls;  Hugh  turns  to  look  at  her,  and 
Kearney  shoots  again  (Not  more  than  four  shots 
should  be  fired  by  Kearney  altogether)  ;  again  Hugh 
turns  upon  Kearney,  and  The  Duchess,  half-rising, 
takes  a  lamp  from  the  table,  and  throws  it  at  Kearne}', 
and  the  room  is  in  flames ;  there  is  a  flash  of  a  shot, 
semi-darkness  and  smoke,  during  the  time  it  takes 
Hugh  to  kill  Kearney  with  his  hands.  (Or,  better, 
perhaps,  silhouetted  near-view  of  Hugh  strangling 
Kearney.)  Flames  and  smoke  fill  the  room. 

Scene  198.  Interior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  73.  Great 
excitement;  smoke  pouring  down  from  above  and  a 
panic  is  under  way. 

Scene  198a.  Flash  of  Duchess'  room  by  light  of  fire, 
showing  Duchess  dead.  Hugh  starts  to  drag  her  out, 
but  sees  she  is  dead,  and  is  driven  off  by  flames. 

Scene  199.  Interior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  73.  Night. 
Near  view.  Much  smoke.  Missy  and  Larry  talking; 
she  says, 

Cut-In.    "  HE  CAME  HERE  TO  SAVE  You!    WHY  DON'T 
You  SAVE  HIM  —  OR  LET  ME?  " 
Back  to  scene.     Missy  tries  to  get  to  Hugh  but  is 
blocked. 

Scene  200.  Interior.  Hall,  same  as  187.  Flash.  Night. 
Hugh  comes  from  the  room  and  through  the  thick 
smoke  in  the  hall. 

Scene  201.  Interior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  73.  Night. 
Principals  near  camera.  Flash  of  the  panic;  Larry 
knocked  down  and  under  a  table;  Missy  hemmed  in. 
Much  smoke. 

Scene  201.  Flash  of  the  exterior,  same  as  66.  Much 
smoke.  Night. 


The  Heir  of  the  Ages  323 

Scene  202.  Interior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  73.  Night. 
Near  view.  Hugh  fights  his  way  out  of  the  door. 

Scene  203.  Interior.  Near  view.  Another  part  of 
room  (73).  Near  view  of  Larry  unconscious  under 
table;  Missy  hemmed  in.  Much  smoke.  Flas*h. 

Scene  204.  Exterior.  Same  as  65.  Near  view  of  door. 
Much  smoke.  Night.  Hugh  near  door,  helping  drag 
people  out;  Old  Man  Hope  comes  to  Hugh,  gesticu 
lating  wildly,  and  telling  him  that  Missy  and  Larry 
are  in  there  yet;  as  soon  as  Hugh  "  gets  "  this,  he 
fights  his  way  back  into  the  saloon. 

Scene  205.  Interior.  Square  Deal,  same  as  73.  Thick 
smoke.  Near  view.  Night.  Hugh  gropes  his  way  to 
Larry  and  Missy ;  a  burning  beam  has  fallen  across 
the  table,  and  Hugh  tears  that  and  the  table  away; 
picks  up  both  Larry  and  Missy  and  staggers  away 
through  the  smoke ;  as  he  gathers  them  into  his  arms, 
fade  in  a  shadowy  yet  unmistakable  picture  of  The 
Man,  The  Brother,  and  The  Girl  at  the  rock  in  the 
deluge,  scene  55.  Then  back  to  scene.  Hugh  stag 
gers  away  with  his  burden. 

Scene  206.  Exterior.  Same  as  65.  Much  smoke.  Near 
view.  Night,  Hugh  staggers  from  the  door  and 
toward  the  street,  with  Larry  and  Missy  in  his  arms. 
Flash. 

Scene  207.  Exterior.  Street,  same  as  65.  Crowd  on. 
Night.  Hugh  staggers  into  the  crowd,  and  rejecting 
all  offers  of  assistance,  he  lays  them  gently  on  the 
ground ;  Larry  is  dead ;  Missy  semi-conscious.  (Appro 
priate  positions  at  time  of  taking.)  Hugh's  grief  over 
the  dead  Larry,  he  finally  stands,  his  face  up 
turned;  Missy  crawls  to  his  feet,  and  clings  to  his 
hand;  he  bends  down  and  lifts  her  to  his  breast. 


324          Little  Stories  from  the  Screen 

looks  into  her  eyes  and  realizes  that  she  is  safe;  then 
looks  at  the  dead  Larry;  then  raises  his  face  to 
Heaven,  with  Missy  clasped  close  to  his  breast.  Dia 
phragm  out  on  their  two  faces.  Latter  part  of  scene 
shows  only  the  three  people. 


